A Bee and the Flowering Quince

In a beautiful garden rare,

A little bumblebee frolicked with care.

Her eyes were always open wide,

Discovering lovely flowers with every stride.

She went to all and did the usual meet and greet,

Collecting nectar sometimes bitter sometimes sweet.

One day fluttering through a known corner,

Gazed upon the flowering Quince wrapped in strange armour.

Asked around about the captivating quince,

They asked her to stay away with a wince.

But the humble bee didn't judge a book by the cover,

Flew towards the Quince and started to hover.

The Quince was covered with plenty of thorns,

But had the sweet fragrance so she didn't bother about the small horns.

The shrub was happy with the tiny admirer,

Telling her anecdotes which caused such a furore.

Every time the bee flittered over,

Her wings were battered by the thorny armour.

The bee was going through her own problems,

Mentioned to the Quince that she will come after autumn.

But the Quince thought he was being abandoned,

Asked her to stay away and showered with thorn cannons.

She pleaded that wait till the flowers blossom,

Don't be scared and play possum.

Couldn't stay so she left with the promise,

Returned to see that the Quince had left the province.

She hurtled all around in scorching heat,

Hoping the Quince would finally meet.

But, Alas! the shrub had gone,

Leaving her to cry and moan.

Although had others who cheered her,

Everything appeared hazy and blur.

They told her she was warned before,

This had always been the Quince's lore.

But she knew what he and she talked about,

And knew his reason for bail out.

The Quince had a habit to hide,

Behind all the thorny pride.

The bee indeed was hurt from all the prickles,

But couldn't forget the moments of sparkles.

So dear Quince if you ever come back,

Remember the bee will stay even if it is pitch black.

~ Kanika Kaushal ✨ The Luminous Muse

Comments

Game Of Fire and Ice

Hey Mister, Why won't you play a game of Twister? I promise I won't play coy. Won't you love it if I were your only toy? You can be the Lion in the boardroom, Then make me roar in the bedroom. Let's play the game of fire and ice. You bring the sugar, and I get the spice. I am praying by myself these nights, Drowning my moans when the city sleeps tight. We can play the game of Super Sonic, And then have our own race over some gin and tonic. So find me, like an app can find a phone. No, I won't bring out my Medusa and turn you into stone. I have been getting over my fears, Learned to make my tears into spears. You can take me as you like. We can go until we hear the third strike.

Polished Sins

A suit and tie, that polished smile, Covering up sins stacked mile by mile. They flaunt “new love,” someone else’s child— A ready-made story, perfectly styled. They’ve “levelled up,” or so they preach, But on someone’s pain, they made their reach, With vows of loyalty, words so neat, While another’s screams lie beneath their feet. Oh, they “moved on” to brighter skies, Leaving someone broken, with silent cries. They mount new heights, they shout and boast— Scaling peaks on another's haunted ghost. So smile for the camera, flash your pride, Show off the life that you tried to hide. For we know the truth beneath your gleam— A hollow show, a self-made scheme.

Till You Sing

Some would say men went to war for women like you, But I would still choose war if it meant choosing you. You say you write in amorous lines, But I would let you be the woman of my tribe. You had your adventures Under The Buda Moon, But have you been loved past noon? So I can see you shine like a magical flower, In the quiet warmth of the golden hour. The invisible strings pull at my heart Can I do justice to your name? Caress you right, Till you sing like a Carnatic hymn. Inspired by the author of Under The Buda Moon, Veena Rao

Cruising Alone

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