Elegy for Thangavelu

I remember the tall, lean frame
Of my Grandfather
Who wanted to grow teak,
Instead of the puny bananas
And fibrous dribble of sugar cane,
On his loamy, ancestral land.
He wanted a tree to match his bearing,
To carry forth his nobility.
No mere fruit could assuage his ambitions.
He desired the very thigh of life.
The joints and backs of tables,
The frames of buildings,
Split into planks on the carpenter’s block.
It’s arid tapestry
Revealing the rings of years,
Expanding into the eye of decades.

When he died, his beloved trees
Were still saplings.
Green, with the many envies of youth.