Custard apples{sitaphal in Hindi} are my absolute favourite. They’re so good on their own. And sitaphal basundi or sitaphal kulfi or sitaphal ice cream or even cream-of-sitaphal, yes just about all desserts made using this element… are super delicious. They’re seasonal, so only during the monsoons. Maharashtra gets the juiciest and plumpest sitaphals. And this year, they’re still available even post-monsoon. I intend to write a light-hearted short poem dedicated to my genuine love for this delectable fruit!
Custard Apple
You know I love you, Custard-Apple If I could, I'd build you a chapel And everyone who came to worship Would forget about hatred, jealousy and gossip Because, a happy tummy Takes away much worry It could be just momentary But joy is worth it, even if temporary Sweetness in every bite But, you've got lots of seeds inside Reminds me about the complexity of life Good and bad experiences go side-by-side When I begin to devour And savour every hour You just get away another year making me break into tears This year I tasted something new One that I could eat all day, that too Sitaphal Basundi is the name of the dessert With my tastebusds it continues to flirt For those who have tasted this delicacy You really must get your hands on this certainly It's like a melted kulfi with bits and puree of custard apple Kulfi is the Indian version of ice cream, only better It's made of reduced whole milk, it's not just babel I know I seem deranged writing a fruity love letter!
- RUELHA www.ruelha.com © Copyright Protected. All Rights Reserved
Disclaimer: This poem is purely literary. Please read it with an open mind and out of respect for the written word. To me, writing is my life. There is nothing I love more. I have a very creative imagination. Most of my poems do not hint at my life/situation. Kindly refrain from drawing such parallels. Much of what I write is purely fictional. Situations and examples may be hypothetical. I have always written about topics I am passionate about – Christianity, makeup, melancholic poetry, food, romance, women’s issues, soulful music, narratives, etc. Given the circumstances, my gender, situation, geography, etc., I feel the need to put up a disclaimer every time I write a romantic/melancholic/intense piece! Everyone is entitled to an opinion. But, please don’t interpret this poem in a disrespectful manner. That is just my humble request. Please extend me the grace of excusing typos if you notice any. I seldom ever edit due to time constraints. My writings may contain material unsuitable for children
Inhale Peace; Exhale Love. Joy will Follow! - RUELHA 
Reblogged this on Ned Hamson's Second Line View of the News.
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Thank you so much for sharing my poem, Ned. 🙂
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They certainly have a distinctive look and texture and you are clearly a fan! 🙂
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Did you get to try it during your time in India, Collin? 🙂
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I was fortunate to have two trees in the garden 😉
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Oh Dear Rue to Count Our Blessings is a Prayer
Oh Dear Rue to Put Our Blessings in A Poem is
Simply
Divine
Hehe or
Perhaps
Complexly
Hard to Understand
The Way i Do it Some Days
Yet Rue is the Soul of the Poet
When i come Her Way She Feels
The Chords and Strings of my Soul MuSiC
We Surely Resonate This Way in Choirs of
Archangel
Soul FRiEnDS
For How it Sounds
When i Harmonize With
The Choir Director From
The Very Back of the Church
Those Are Just Metaphors Yet
The Elder Ladies Do Turn Around
From the Pews Ahead of me So Surprised
To Hear A Voice from Above Come From What
Otherwise Looks Like Someone Who Would Enforce Laws…
True the Profession i Have Most often have Been Confused for by
Looks as Soon as i got Nearly Superman Strong Looking and for
Some Reason Folks Think my SHades Are More For Undercover
Than Previous Disability in the Worst Pain Known to Humankind as
Street Lights at 3 am were as Painful as Looking at the Sun at 12 Noon…
And Sure Even if i had my eyes closed and ears closed no matter the day
or now forevermore then where a second Lasted a Thousand Years of Hell…
Yet of Course Losing the Feeling/Memory of a Smile Losing All Emotions That Was
The Real Flavor of Hell
Just No Connection to
The Rest of Existence
(God) At All Just a Life
of Never Ending Pain and
Numb Such A Gift that is…
i Could Never Sing Like that
Before i Went to Hell i could
Never Dance Like i Do Before
i Went to Hell and There Was no
Poetry Changing All My Words this way
From Soul the Greatest Gift of ‘Custard Apple’
So Ironically
May be the
Gates of
Hell
Both Entered
And Stayed And
Returned to Dance And Sing Again Now…
Next Stop/Go Forgiveness my FRiEnD…
And i Surely Put All my BLeSSinGS
DarK Thru LiGHT in Poetry too For
There Are no NuMBeRS iN Heaven
Now Although i Do Make All Those Symbols
Holy Sacred
And Divine
With the Rest
of All that is God
DarK Thru LiGHT As
ETeRNaL BLeSSinGS NoW…
Yes As We Dance And Sing
This Inhale of Peace This Exhale
of Love This Gift This Breath NoW mY FRiEnD..:)
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I love this whenever I go to an Indian restaurant
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You certainly have good taste, SlimJim. 🙂
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Aww thanks!
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