Kidnapped

The street was empty and say dark,

not a chirp in the park nor a dog bark, 

the man trodded quietly to the mark, 

 the door glittered in the old light.

His hands shivered like in the cold, 

his heart thumped in the shirt's fold, 

gripping his wallet in a quivering hold, 

he knocked the door gathering his might.

The gloomy entry pulled him deep, 

world but that guard he thought asleep, 

climbing in courage those steps steep, 

 he strolled to the table dressed in white.

Pulled the pile twice thick a fine deck, 

placed on the table gulping down the neck, 

he smiled desolate thinking of the last peck, 

walked away in haste into the moonless night.

He walked infinitely praying in care, 

to look back he never did dare, 

 reached his gate in the pace of a hare, 

and waited there stretching his sight.

Around the corner came the chuckling tone, 

and then the kid in fear all alone, 

daddy daddy was the voice known, 

the clock atlast ticked again right.

The world of lies seemed to be utopia, 

though not the first hug it was euphoria, 

the house sank back singing of Gloria, 

wealthy no more but rich were they quite.

A pleasant morning

The green leaf shone like an emerald stone,
The rose did frown in her hue alone,
In that world no one would ever see.

The parrots did race to the concealed clown,
The sparrows did graze along the healthy brown,
In that world no one would ever see.

The leaves rustled in silence as if in a spree,

And the crickets chirped in the old woody tree,

In that world no one would would ever be.

The moist petals sagged as the drops did slide,

And the eagles visited the earth in a swift glide.

In that world no one would ever feel.

The turf slipped under the feet as if on a skate,

And the sun dawned, like drawn on a slate,

In that world no one would ever see.

I dreamed of a fine day, in my bed lay,

It was not a bit grey, dullness was nay,

In my world only I could be. 

Bee tale

"B.... Be..... Bee..." My mom was buzzing around as the mud got warmer. I flapped my wings as I realized it was my first day in the university today. I was excited, because many of those senior bees who pass out start tasting the nectar of fresh roses in the mornings. I wanted to be one among them. By the way, I am be...., though I precisely know not how long my name is to be buzzed. I live at five-hive, the most prestigious hive in my locality. My honey digging dad was very proud when he knew I got into the "University of Honeydew" for he knew, in a few years I would be the one passing orders and ruling a thousand like him, choosing flowers for them.

And so, I got admitted and the boring student life started again, but now we were taught of more related matters, of honey and roses, of jasmine and frightening frogs and of those huge men. The classes went on until one day, my camp leader; Mr. Nectarnest assigned me as the night guard of five-hive, as a part of our curriculum. I was happy, but the night was cold. It was a rainy day and as we were well taught,

"One drop of water will hurt,
Twice is as harmful as a drop of dirt,
Let the honey flow away far,
In a rain never stare at the star"

I was carefully making way to the yellow stone when a drop hit my wing. I felt the pain and in search of a dry area, I ended up under a great Yellowstone of the man land. The high school saying ringed in my ears "try a frying pan u may die, but never disturb a man you know why." The tales of the martyr, sir Petalpluck sparked in the sky, and in my mind, and calmness enthralled my nerves as I buzzed around the Yellowstone waiting for the rain to stop. I rested for a few moments only to turn back and gape at the day behind me. Keeping carefully out of reach of those honey suckers I made my way into the stinky room.

The winds circled as I sat on a stone, this was so special and slippery. Unlike as was told, man just didn't build Yellowstone. This stone was blue. I waited calmly expecting to be warmed but this was different. Cold winds encircled along the room and I jumped all along the stone for warmth. I finally saw the light come from a white stone and ran into it. But none was warm like the mud before I go to the class. I calmly paced out as I saw a lizard on the stone. The next morning in the class, I referred of what happened to Mr. Nectarnest and he brushed his whiskers in anger. Lately he explained after I deafened him with my curious questions. I remember what he said still.

"The honeysuckers did it always. It was a way to call us in. No bee, not even the queen bee ever knew why. But bee, what you did was a big mistake. We have seen bees die, buzz in agony after they searched for warmth so. Lucky you should be called. The research wing is still trying to find out why the sun there is not hot. There is a word called light. The light of the sun we see in the morning is warm. Every other isn't they say. These beings have made light so and still kill us and hit us with lightning bats when we try to fight.

 
"Beware bee, beware!!!
Search for the warmth in the mud,
and the honey in the flower bud,
everything else is a fake,
all other is namesake."

My stings shivered as I listened to him hymn it. He continued, "The being started polluting flowers and taking their nectar. We kept quiet. He started firing our hives and destroying them. We didn't fight. He made hives and made us work; we thought he was right until the twenty hives died. Today he makes light and kills us when we go to it. Let's see what he does more" he sounded depressed and resolute. The class was over and I flew back home. Somehow I knew life would never be the same.

I suicide

This day I willingly take my life, into my own hands but with a knife.
Awkward and peculiar as it is, amateur I was at gulping such strife.

I always love sewing these rhymes, letting words dance to the unheard chimes.
I do it again as I fall to my knees, joyous it is when my heart and body mimes.

I have heard a lot about this god's boon, one which was too precious to ruin.
Money is but an ornament they said, but it was the sun that shone in the noon.

Of love was sang the sweetest song, but now I see it was all wrong.
It is a desire of a drunken head, dried in weed and hit with a gong.

A life seems bright in a shining name, so does your pride in a sparkling fame.
Neither of them contented me, but brimmed my empty heart with a shame.

I tried weighing on my parents and friends, but all they bore were the present day trends.
My heart was thus destined to be, tormented by every luxury it lends.

So I end my poem of death, for it looks good but gives no joy.
I end it in a happy breathe, atlast I see I am but a God's toy.

Dream that night

The blue moon bloomed larger than ever, full and bright, radiantly gleaming over the water. The water fluttered calmly to the gentle breeze blowing by, reflecting the moon as if it twinkled and glowed in the deep waters far away from the place. The breeze got cooler and the moon stood steady, as the clouds gathered about the moon, yet not touching as if they knew that today, god blessed the moon to look its prettiest. The white clouds puffed silently setting a royal chair for the moon as he looked over what was to happen.

On such waters, calm and serene, in a far off land was planted teak deep, supporting the teak deck that stood in the waters. The deck was a square, large enough to roam around. A few fish giggled around it as they watched far away, against the moon, two dolphins, jumping and dancing in the shadow, in a romantic rhythm and the fish tried to imitate them about the deck. Above it stood a table, hardly waist high, and not wider than a hand, covered fully in the royal blue velvet down till its feet were not visible. Two chairs stood on either sides of the moon as the moon glazed amongst them right to fall at the feet of a door.

The door stood closed, closing a dark world behind it, full of jealousy and treacherous smiles. On the other side stood this dream, the birds chirped nightly in a distance unknown, and the moon did not dared to move, as if time there was unknown. Calm black shoes bore the weight of him, his ears tweaked waiting for the knock on the door, and his eyes viewed into its emptiness. The rose fragrance he held behind him folding his right hand to his back already romanticized the air as his frown was calmed by the sea breeze.

On the other side, in a world dark, dark as black, stood a girl, knowingly on her heels, clad in a fresh green skirt. The chilled air of the cold hearts blew over her back and her arms driving a chill, a shiver of fear, as she raised her hand half clenched into a fist, to feel and knock. Her skirt below her knees rushed towards the door trying to feel it, and knock it, as if she knew the world on the other side, was just ready to welcome her. The open hair embraced her ears from the false laughter and the darkness secluded her eyes from the mean smiles.

Both waited.