By Sai Rayala.
They say Isaac Newton
Was sitting under an apple tree
Watching the soft cotton clouds
Float like mist in the pale blue sky.
An apple broke off and fell down
And struck poor Newton on the head.
A hit that led to gravity.
It’s a pity our world has no place
To nurture the future Newtons.
For who will sit outside
Searching for shapes in clouds,
When they can sit on beds
As soft as cotton, inside
With their heads scrunched over
Little plastic screens.
The fresh air outside is polluted
With the signals of cell towers.
And we stay, transfixed
At the bright, blinding light.
The apples outside plunge
And shrivel and decay,
The vibrant colors fading away.
Featured Image:This image was originally posted on Flickr by Selbe Lynn. This image has been licensed for fair use by the creator under the Creative Commons license – Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.0 Generic (CC BY-NC-ND 2.0). No changes have been made.