One single, juicy fruit often mistaken to be a vegetable.

Good to eat sliced, with a dash of lime.

Good to slather on face, if you aren't squeamish.

Good to cook to a pulp and add that magic paanchphoran spice mix to it.

You'll have chutney. You'll have jelly. Your slice of bread will have company.

You say to-maa-to, I say to-mey-to.

denied daydream

...For the want of a sun in a backyard lined with herbs and blossoms and a son named Kahlil, covered in bits of leaves.

We all run inside as it starts raining and the woods beyond turn several shades darker. The cat scurries inside, licking its grey fur in distaste. It's warm inside. I hold your hand as Kahlil with his chubby legs potter around. You read from a book of poems you found terribly exciting and I listen. The rain gets heavier. We huddle together and listen to the constant drip drip and music on our old record player.

After a while you start drawing and I roll over, sighing.

Kahlil is drowsy and the cat snuggles upto him. I am too lazy to finish what I was writing. The weather calms down a bit. I peek out and see that everything is mellow.

It's another day filled with love.

  

Four lines

Surprise, it's a blue sky today. Not a scrap of cloud to mar your spirits.
Surprise, I am on the edge of acceptance - lover, friend, family - pay heed to my needs.
Surprise, words are stilted. Hesitant to flow, float & make sense. 
Surprise, that merry-go-round you ascended crashed into a bottomless hole.