BONSAI.

By Shruti Bhattacharya

Don’t be a bonsai!

Roots don’t reach

Down the earth;

Neither does the trunk

Nor the shaft.

Drunk in in poise

Bestowed with pride

Pretty little bonsai

Sits on garden tide.

Don’t rain it much

It will die!

For you know,

Trees don’t cry,

But little bonsai,

Rips, and divides.

What is so fine?

What is this shine?

Why do you worship

Such a small

Puny vine?

Luster and grime

The leaves seem fine

Buy a bonsai

Reap it hard

With stars and sigh

Audience comply.

Pretty little bonsai

Spoilt in a china;

Looks like a hyena

The weeds aside.

Bonsai! You praise

Yet no raise;

Nurtured like a kid,

Purposed to feed;

Still little bonsai

Pays no heed.

Bonsai! Bonsai!

Dear little bonsai!

Grow a little

Tall and ravine?

Poor little bonsai

Thinks in mind

Petty foolish humans

Each are a buffoon.

Why would you want,

Me to grow?

I am a bonsai,

Not one you sow.

Plant as holy

High and money

Cost you, me

Your possessions

Of drought.

Silly petty human

Are you daft?

For knowing me

Is a task,

Not which

Is your craft!

Suit you a banyan;

Ugly and big

Protect you, ye;

From roof

And poof;

Suit you weed

Yard full and crude;

For I must be groomed

Or buy you a creep!

Hush now hush!

Take me in,

For burning is the sun,

You better not

Let it yearn!

By Shruti Bhattacharya