By Gladwin George
Ambled I, through the cemented path
Pebbles layered neatly in between, I felt
Safe, clean- no fear of crawling insects-
nor sand on my Skechers
Understory trees, arranged in exact gaps
Each one, outlined by oval sitting spaces,
An extra leaf or twig pruned lest it
troubles walkers
Occupied by crowds hooked to their phones,
Not a moment did they notice the foliage,
Even the chirping backyard birds
disturbed their focus
Wherever I go, signboards echo
`Back to Nature' `Green Beckons'
What I see- Mother Earth
chained, trimmed and regulated
to our whims and pranks