A black bee waits at a bamboo stalk
With ejected nectar from marypops,
Not robbed from flowers slit by the side,
But it shall wait until spring on hops
Northern blackbucks, with their corkscrew horns,
Rubbing them on elf green shrubland souls,
Emulating doe skin or moulting
Or it tried to- until spring unrolls
Ruddy goose, heads bobbing to and fro
Like if the sun had bathed in the hues
From the sea in which flamingoes drowned
Their salmons off, cross the beamish blue
The red heads swallowing lotus stems,
One half returns on green lotus lap
In hopes of a mate, who'll lick it clean
Until all fall prey to time's springtrap.
~Ajay
18/1/18
