Pineapples

Along the winding roads of youth, where dreams like mist arise,

A young man of twenty-four with hope in his eyes,

Traveled the highway's length, through Ghospokur's embrace,

Where tea plantations, lush and green, adorned the land with grace.

One morn, in Bidhannagar, 'neath skies of softest blue,

He found a sign that beckoned, "Pineapple capital," it knew.

Fields upon fields of spiky crowns, in stages, they did grow,

Through seasons' change, they stood in lines, in sun's or rain's glow.

His mother, wise at seventy-five, with love's enduring flame,

Spoke of the fruits that would sweeten with the monsoon's claim.

So he awaited rain's return, with patience in his soul,

For pineapples to fill their home, to make their dining whole.

In the market's thrumming heart, where life's rich tapestries blend,

He met a maiden fair and young, a vision heaven-sent.

Beside her father, she did stand, as bargains were composed,

And in his heart, a future dream, like tender blossom, rose.

But fate, cruel with its twisted hand, struck swift without a sign,

The maiden crossed the road and met a destiny malign.

A truck, unyielding, stole her breath, and with it, dreams did part,

He vowed to leave the pineapples, the fruit that pierced his heart.

Now, pineapples, once sweet and bright, bear sorrow's heavy toll,

For him, they are the forbidden fruit, that grieves his very soul.

No more shall he traverse that road, where memories lie in wait,

A love, a life, a fleeting chance, now sealed by cruel fate.