Buzzing in the mind.
Frenzy in the fingers.
You whirl and ripple,
twist and turn.
Like a disposable bag flapping in the wind,
snagged by the stray spike of a lamp post.
You are snared by busyness,
hooked by occupation.
One day, the bag tears away from the pole,
hurt, but free.
Realising there was ground beneath it,
a sun above it,
life teeming in the trees.
Learn to be present, bag of busyne...