The Mango Tree

When I was a kid,
There was a mango tree.
Not a big and shining one,
Not a small one either.
It was just a tree
Sick and weak fainted and pale

It was tired, just like me.
I used to go to the roof and stare at it.
It smiled at me.
We talked about many things for hours,
It completed me.

I wondered why it's in a prison
Kept between big other trees,
There were many other trees.
Trees of flowers and fruits
To me, they were killing the mango tree,
I felt it, just like how I felt in my school
Imprisoned between beauty and worthy.

Maybe, the mango tree wasn't worth enough to live.
Maybe some things are meant to die in pain.
I felt the loneliness of it, every day, every night.

But when I asked my mother,
About the tree.
She replied, " it used to give the most delicious mangoes I've ever tasted.
Soft like clouds, filled with flavours, sweet that'll give you a heavenly feeling."

One day,
One cold winter day.
When I woke up from the sleep,
When I woke up from a beautiful dream.
I looked outside in the garden.
The Mango tree was gone.
Died in a cold winter night,
All alone.  

Sometimes I wonder why?
Why all the good things die?