I’m locked in a glasshouse;
There are so many of my kind!
Deportees, refugees…escapists…
Still escaping…

I was uprooted from my haunt
And thrust in here, with others like me
In a superficial setup,
Environed by glass which
Shaped my stance;
I didn’t have much to do.
Didn’t have to adapt
For the ambiance was regulated.
The dissenter in me was curbed
My growth, stunted
Fashioned as per their need.

I couldn’t grow wild, sprawling
In reckless abandonment.
I could scarcely breathe
So eventually, my flowers lost their fragrance;
Yet, managed to look pretty!
I was the freak put up on show
Sized up by dawdling eyes.

In my artificial house,
I could not tell –
If I grew in it,
Or it grew on me
Or maybe,
Still escaping…
I was escaping reality…

19 February 2016


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