The Bee

  The bee is drunk with honeyed dew
In flowered colors a metallic dance
A hitched stagger in shifting winds
A flutter of smile in all that morass.

Enterprises of hive now gone distant
Structures and stimulations now left behind
The queen and drones wishing gone astray
For a sip of freedom and a new start.

Aromatics grazed in a buzz of curse
A soft cradled sun in a warm burst
Rocking fragrance in the azureous skies
In liquefied reflections of droning surge.


More by :  Durlabh Singh

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