I bend over to touch the feet
but reach only the shin. Like

a leaf partially chewed up
by insects and now it has eyes

and a nose and a moustache.
A furry aphid hiding in its sole

ear. Beard knotted, twirls of
frond shooting from the face

as a baby born with conjoined
fingers, bald, crying, incapacitated

to write the things it saw on its
way, the pencil that it held in its

hand not just taken away but
returned, with its tip broken.

Sudhanshu Chopra is a poet, wordsmith and pun-enthusiast. 31 and rootless, he is fascinated by nature and frustrated by its incomprehension. He wishes we had evolved better or not at all. It is the midway that causes Catch 22 situations, which are quite troubling, mentally and otherwise. He tweets at @artofdying_