Quirkily, with enthusiasm moribund
And the rush from the work behind
Ruminations in a husk, Shadows creep at dusk
Aside, a tiny tree on the desk
I pulled the sapling, a bonsai in the making;
With a pair of scissors, quivering hands crafting
There lay cluttered, the snipped roots
And the just sprouted tender green twigs and shoots.
The stifled thoughts of a suppressed tot!
I finished crimping, and debilitated,
Just when the little tree yearned to grow.
Just like they did it in the school, and scorned,
When I started longing for logic.
Like that little gold fish circling fluently,
In the constraints of my living room aquarium;
Like that canary tweeting mellifluously,
Behind the bars of the cage in the backyard patio;
This little bonsai, in a pot next to the door steps,
Quizzed; ensured my conscience censured.
Once again, in the dim lights of passing thoughts …
