Our Neighbor's Son Poem by Anil Kumar Panda

And when he was a child
He would go up the guava tree
He would stand on a branch
And move up and down and
The ripe guava would fall on floor

I and my sister gathered them
Into heaps and took them home

He would often pluck guavas
Half ripen and throw them down
My sister would held her skirt
Open in front of her to catch them

I and my sister gathered them
Into heaps and took them home

Then he would come down
His pant pockets bulging with
Yellowish guavas

These are for her old ma
He would say and run away

He died last night
I was standing by him
Holding his hands
The hands of a poor man
Who could not bought guavas
For his little children