I grab a smoke every now and then
But office has a no smoking policy
Even though they are smoking their workers
They won’t let you light up inside
So I move out, to the backside
In the balcony, on the 2nd floor

As I light up, I look out
To the balcony of the apartment in front
In the window, there is a plant
I look at at it as I exhale
Quite amusingly, it seems to look back at me
We share our silent moments

It is outgrowing its pot
And it knows it clearly
It doesn’t belong there
That too it knows
If it could, it would’ve just walked away
And if it could speak, it would have expressed its soreness
But It grins at me, mawkishly

And says,
Here I am, outgrowing this place
And there you are, smoking away
Neither can I speak, nor walk away
But can’t you either?