The climber in the pot
scales the wire mesh
One square at a time
And spread its arms
Entwined to
the cold rusty iron
Sprouting a flower here
And there, as it heads towards the top
Cruel hands, pull away the pot
tendrils bleed
And the shrub is lost.
this was what destiny had bound
climbers growing in pots
cant have roots in the ground.
2 comments:
a beautiful piece of work just like the rest of your poems. u have given a great message too. keep up this flow of great thoughts.
dependence-of any form gives pain, dear poet.
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