I wake up as Mango.

There are mangos, my family, my friends, my neighbors.

With some, we grow up in the same tree.

With others, we absorb from the same soil.

My body gets bigger and bigger each day.

Branches bend down because of my weight.

They are telling me: it is a good time for landing.

I adjust my pose, rehearse the launch.

My destination is changed to another place, not by me.

This place seems nice and clean.

I see people dancing and singing.

They are celebrating for me.

They want to know about me.

They care about me.

I have never felt so welcomed and valued.

It is the best day of my life.

It is the best day of my life.

It is the best day of my life.

It was the best day of my life.

I thought my future is going to be bright and clear.

They plundered my body.

They ruptured my soul.

They were consuming me.

I saw people dancing and singing.

This place seemed so bloody and cruel.

Who had put me here, was that you?

I adjusted my position, repeated the labor.

They kept telling me: it is a good choice to blend in.

Machines roared to maximize the power.

My space shrunk as if I am empty inside.

For some, I donated my flesh.

For others, I gave in my rights.

I saw bodies, my family, my friends, my neighbors.

And they asked,

Who is she?

She is a mango.

A mango.

A mango.

A mango.