The humble copper pod
Lines the streets of the IIT Bombay campus,
A natural “infinite corridor” high above your sight.
I sat beneath a tree today;
I am sorry, I said to it, for I never saw you.
I never saw you, even though you remained around me
All year through as the seasons changed,
Growing green leaves, copper pods and vibrant yellow flowers.
I am sorry that I never saw you because
You were twenty feet above me and I kept staring
At flowers at eye level, like the fiery ashoka,
The delicate hibiscus and the flaky bougainvillea.
I am sorry I did not look up.
I am sorry that I never tried to know you,
Never tried to reach into your branches
And look at your small, but copious leaves,
Your beady copper pods and your small, but sturdy flowers
That showered down to create a yellow carpet every April.
I am sorry that I never stopped to stare at you
As I walked under your green-yellow umbrella
And stepped on your tender flowers carelessly,
Taking your shade for granted all year through.
I am sorry
Because no one told me that I could make a tradition
Of pausing to admire you in all your glory
And I did not think you were worth stopping for.