There’s a bonsai plant in my room

Probably not the red rose in your head

The flower we constantly give to someone –

A dear friend, beloved mom or to our short of love self

Not the yellow and white chrysanthemums in a glass vase

There is a bonsai plant in my room in front of my TV set occupying the brown shelf

It makes sense how this bonsai spins wonder more than the shows on my TV screen

How my eyes tend to look at its way subconsciously every time I move around my cabin room

It seems it’s calling me, attracting me the bonsai way

One afternoon I found myself throwing tantrums to this sublime bonsai

When suddenly I stopped.

I realized how it stood still even at the fan of air as a response of my “what the heck is going on- roaring self”

There is a bonsai plant that greets me in the morning with a steady look and a knowing grace

When I’m sour graping after a good night’s dream.

I have a fetish for bonsai plants

When I see one distant memories start a slideshow

And I remember passing by Peace Street with three grand houses in my adolescence

The orange house, the white house and the black house

Among these houses I love the white house most because

they have rubber pots with bonsai plants and every morning I see Doctor Robberts watering her plants

Some bonsai plants are shaped as fish, some a tower, some ducks

But I love the bonsai shaped as a cage most

I thought I could live there somehow

Doctor Robberts has one big pair of orange metal scissors and

Every Sunday afternoon she would snip the leaves growing out of the aluminum rings and greet other passers-by with an old smile

Her house has that autumn feel as some flower puffs, narra leaves and flowerets fall on the ground giving off an aromatic smell to lil neighbors like me

There is a bonsai plant in my room and it’s gaining prominence in my heart that sure is in bloom. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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