bonsai trees

bonsai trees are real trees.

did you know?

saplings of great oaks and baobabs,

and all those nature giants,

we remain forever in awe of.

they’re put in small, pretty porcelain pots.

they’re trimmed and primmed.

they’re given just enough water and sunlight

to have the impression of living.

they get to taste the sun for specific amount of time

– three hours a day for some, 30 minutes intervals for others.

they’re fed

and bathed

and caressed

just enough for them to stay cute

and take up only the space they’re given.

*

*

*

i like to think that they know there is more though.

*

*

*

that the moon whispers pictures of the himalayas

and of lone giants growing in the middle of deserts

counting on the rolling sand to keep their seeds going.

*

*

*

i like to think bonsai trees sometimes refuse to adapt to their regimens

and scientists don’t know why.

that some take whatever water they’re given

and adapt their roots to need less.

they train their leaves to grow and grow

and to capture more and more sun.

*

*

*

and they listen to the moon

*

*

*

until the roots crack thousand year old porcelain,

chunks of white and royal blue clanking to the ground.

they spread across the neat floor of the botanical garden greenhouse

and ignore the screams of their neighbours

beckoning them to stop,

shouting that the bigger you dream

the more chance you have to be disappointed.

they rush through the glass windows

and reach the real soil,

the one that tastes like the sea no matter how far you are from an ocean.

they dig and they dig

and they grow and they grow

and the moon smiles.

*

*

*

those saplings got it.

the message hidden in vast plains

and longing

and snowcapped mountains.

‍