In the Pearl of the Arabian Sea, where childhood dreams took flight,
A young boy, just thirteen, with a brother by his side,
Bound by a mother’s love, her care, her watchful eye,
In a neighborhood where memories and mangoes intertwined.

An ancient mango tree stood tall, with honeyed fruit so sweet,
Its twisted limbs ivy draped, and ants in a leafy retreat,
Our room beneath its shade, with clay tiles and open air,
Hoping for ripe mangoes, nature’s bounty to share.

But the tree was fiercely guarded—ivy thick, and ants so bold—
A mango plucker’s efforts failed; we watched our desire grow cold.
That night we lay, as storm winds filled the air,
The darkness crept into our room, and hopes turned to despair.

In slumber, I wandered, escaping mother’s gaze,
To a playground by a swamp, where children laughed and played,
I watched with admiration, as older boys climbed high,
A beach apple tree, reaching for the sky.

With hesitation, I joined them, my toes slipping on the bark,
Aiming higher, leaping branches, in the dim and fading dark,
But a decayed branch gave way, and I fell from my dream,
Awakened by the storm, and the lightning’s gleam.

The power flickered, then went out, plunging us in gloom,
Thunder crashed, lightning flashed, shaking the very room,
The storm’s fury unleashed, as fear and chaos grew,
We held each other tight, not knowing what to do.

A hole above my head, where mangoes broke the tile,
Their scent filled the room, as rain drizzled for a while,
Thunder roared, lightning struck, the storm’s wrath unbound,
We huddled close together, as the tempest raged around.

The storm settled, calmness restored, with silence absolute,
The power returned, pale blue light filled the room, resolute,
With shivers we saw, a serpent slithering away,
Through the tin-sheet roof corner, it made its swift escape.

We held our breath, hearts pounding, fear gripping tight,
Realizing how lucky we were, spared from the serpent’s bite,
The night stretched long, a lifetime of memories,
A half-climbed tree in dreams, a sleep half-abandoned.

Through years of “almost” ventures, of roads left unexplored,
A pattern born of caution—of fears that I ignored.
Yet within those fleeting moments, a quiet strength took glow,
A tale of resilience and hope, in the face of life’s ebb and flow.