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The Bee


Durlabh Singh

The bee is drunk with honeyed dew

In flowered colours 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 azured skies

In liquefied reflections of droning surge.

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