poems with no names

xvi

ø

If it is nature’s instinct to be wild, 

Where are these docile flowers from?

Contained within the low, white fence, 

made their beds on ‘human’ ground. 

To be seen and not heard, 

the rule of all obedient children, 

smile, don’t make any noises, 

the doctrine of all gardens. 

Acting as decorations for rent, 

with no questions asked, 

my dear petite flowers, 

you’re not meant to have voices. 

Yet these benign beings, 

have their ancient stories 

and their own intricate names 

not to be tread by human vanity.