He waited by his garden,
Ready to receive and thus give,
The boys were ready too,
The joys of sweet life to live.
The old man gathered some,
And sat by them with hearty joy,
Picked up one and took a bite,
before sharing them with each boy.
Sweet mangoes of the season,
The boys ran through the gate,
Looked neither right nor left,
Jumped on the pile, straight.
The boys filled their pockets,
Thanked the old man,
Gathered yet some more,
Then off they ran.
All the mangoes were gone,
Raided by them pirates of delight,
Save the mango in the old man’s hand,
Waiting for that one last bite.
The old man savoured his last,
And walked in slowly through the gate,
A feeble boy, slow in his march,
And for the mangoes, too late.
Only the seed of the mango lay,
Now on the old man’s palm,
The boy looked at him, disappointed,
Yet the old man smiled back with calm.
The old man offered the seed,
The boy looked puzzled, hurt.
All the others five mangoes,
And all I get is dirt.
He refused the mango seed,
And thus made his way back,
The old man sat some more,
How the boy only saw his lack.
The sun was red to the brim,
The old man prepared to leave,
But now he saw yet another,
Limping into the garden weave.
That’s all I have left this year.
The old man yet again offered his seed.
The boy smiled wide, thanked the man,
And playfully to his home took the seed.
A seed worth more than a pocketful,
More than dirt, more than years of pain.
It is in the spirit of a man,
Where one sees dirt, the other, gain.
Five mangoes may fill you for a day,
But a seed will guide you through strife.
Five mangoes may be a gift momentary,
But a seed will feed you for life.
“And only the worthy shall have the heart to accept the seed.”