Mango pickles

We have passed many mango seasons. We are still mango in tree and cuckoo, the latter shouting for west hills rain.

We can pelt no stones at mangoes now but can eat stones off their sweet pulp.Our eaten stones sprout tender leaves from stinking garbage dumps ,homes to pigs.When they grow big they host cuckoos ,their branches rub each other in love.

Our mom is now mango to the breeze.She can make no more mango pickles but hosts mango tasting cuckoo music.

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