Trapped. New England spring comes calling come sing come dance come lie in sunlight with your love on grassy hills; dogwood petals fluttering down and wind teasing laughing calling oh come! Chained. Chained to this desk with stacks of papers and hours more of meetings with grumpy, angry people who yearn to drink in sunlight, chained to their duty their debts their desk. Then a careless wind comes calling so my papers all go flying and suddenly I am laughing leaning back into my chair smelling lilacs on the wind as my officemates come peering through the door, slightly smiling... ***** M.A. Mohanraj Brookline, Massachusetts May 7, 1993Click here to read more poems.