Bee sting

We are giggling girls in our backs
It is where stings should happen-

A swarm of bees no, just a single.
The bees make ruckus as beards.

They sting when they are stubble.
On backs they tingle adventures.

In poet’s myth bee brings pollen
On wee legs, what beauty spread!

A sting is worth it for immortality
It confers on backs in old poems.

Curious to know

Brother is a wind in trees
Gently passing old woods.

He had a next after years
Of his brother’s early next.

(His bulb had quite a light
Now softly passing trees.)

We are in a hurry to know
The next, curious to know.

The woman is still her bulb
With no next sign to light.

She will be happy to know
The next, curious to know.

Again and again

God says do it again at dawn
And at the recur of eventide

And a sun would do it again
For children to laugh again

As daisies will be born again
Only to die again separately

And as daisies ,all in a chain
And be born new daisies all

Daisies are as the same God
Saying the same thing again

Daisies anywhere are words,
Like words that fall the same

Words will come back again
In nights to be same poems.

Distance of time

Walls would stretch interminably to white sky
Hiding bush and snakes in them gently rising,
Feet shuffling to rustling sounds of dry leaves.

The squirrels built bridges for our man-gods
And earned three dark stripes on soft backs.
Strange birds sang in the sky deaths of lives.

With the distance of time our eyes slowly fell
And body hurried past closing all our spaces.
The distances are now small, a skyline close.