Balachandran V's poem begins gently. A few flowers drop from a mango tree, then a small unripe fruit bumps the speaker's shoulder, and he laughs. Nothing seems wrong, though the opening lines admit he had no idea what was coming.
Then the mood turns. Thunder rumbles, dark clouds rush in, and the wind chills his heart. The world feels "gone mad," and his question, "Where would I go, to whom could I turn to?", sounds helpless. His answer is the old mango tree he grew up beside, the one he ate from and swung on as a child.
The ending is quiet and tender. He shivers, presses his cheek to the rough bark, and shuts his eyes. The rain on his face becomes "tears of my old mango tree." The poem moves from carefree curiosity to fear, and finally to comfort, as the tree seems to share his sorrow and protect him like an old friend.