She gives the best vibes
After all, she is queen of the beehive.
The fierce leader of the clan.
Her idealism on unity—
I am a big fan.

Imaginative and creative,
Engineers and architects learn from her narrative.
Though small it looks, the hive is home to many.
Built out of wax—
It didn’t cost them a penny.

Just some smiling flowers—
Some pollen, some grains.
A house protected by pointed stingers.
Don’t think them tiny or frail.

Buzzing and fussing—
No grudge, no fudging.
I adore bees and their hives.
Their Honeywell life—
Symbol of harmony,
Idol of strength.

Away from this world apart,
With sweetness in their heart.

Near those hills and valleys,
I saw you walking like a memory.
Yes! again I am writing a story of you
My delectable fairy.
Don't worry, it won't be scary.

Walking alone lost in your own thoughts
You didn't notice me.
Though I sat beside you,
In that boat, and on that ferry.

My troubled thoughts clamoured in a bubble.
I smiled when I saw you snuggle.
When I saw your face in a reflection, like one sees in  a mirror,
In the currents of that holy river.
Your longings consumed me like a love-fever.

Aggrieved grief I felt,
for you couldn't see the same.
Will you hold my arm again?
Let this passion burn.
Let it melt.

I heard those mountains echoing your name.
An anonymous fame.

What should I write further?
I have no thoughts in hand.
I am still angry with myself.
For my own pious thoughts I couldn't withstand.

Your heart was red and bright.
I didn't know, you stored something in it,
So black and white.
Now, hues feel my pain.
My uncontrollable disdain.

A bird was gazing at me,
Perched on a tree
And asked me, Hey! Unusual species!
Why do you sit here?
Did you lose your purpose?
Jump back up and capture the sky.
Capture your sunrise,
Race like a star—this is your sign.
Capture your sunset
Stay prepared, stay on the mark.
You'll reach that cloudy arc—
I fly with wings.
But believe me, I know the sky.
Even without your wings,
Your dreams can fly.

I may have stepped on my own rake.
I was trying to sow a seed of love in your land.
I giggle, I wonder.
By this act—so sly—
which raises a question: a why?
A why! Which seems to be an answer.
An answer for the feeling caused on that day,
when you said, "Hi."

An unconditional clause; always leading my breath to take a pause.
Without an audience and without an act,
am I a mad artist?
What are these applauses?
What is this pact?
Like a patient in an asylum, I react.
You pledged, "When you find your love, your 'ishq,' you won't leave it."
I have already found you.
When will you find me?
A relinquishment, a wish.

No words to write...
How should I express?
What feelings would suffice?
Tears and pain; now couldn't be healed.
When we suddenly found pieces of bullets and blood.
Served on a plate meant for Dal and rice.

In their ovens and woks.
They are now boiling hatred and false provoke.
The life-giving herbs are not real—
They are but camouflage of life ******* shrubs.

And what for?
for the call of Freedom which already prevailed.
Now, after this treacherous act,
Killing all innocents— now who would you hail?
You took away the city's soul —the prideful flair.
That day—when you washed off that sindoor.
And laid that coward's rattling snare—
a proclamation illegal and unfair.

Don't call yourself a human.
A human's job is to observe and care.
Don't call yourself a human
Don't you dare.

The pain,
the unravelled truth.
Avenged vermillion stayed awake
amid the peace-calling warcry.

Lost lives, lost souls.
Ashes burnt the happiness.
In coffins, they buried the dreams.
Smoke smells grave —
shelters piercing borders.
Stones pelting people,
an action naive.

We all have witnessed this immersive rain.
Do they always tell a story of disdain?
The fierceness and sadness intertwined —
an outcry of our testing time.

A soul for a soul.
The theme of warrior's vengeance.
A cyclic psychology.
A provoked retribution.

Perhaps something is above humanity.
Something is above divinity.
In brevity —
we forget the art of living.

“We stand as one.”
A phrase engraved on the holy ceiling.
But the truth is —
to us, it has no meaning.

Standing on a musing stage,
I heard a song of you—
It charmed me like a whimsical siege.
Here I stand with a guitar,
Much like that poster star.

The breeze, the aura—brightened flora.
Wands of notes.
Spells of lyrics.
Love is real, not a gimmick.
It is a wizard's trick,
From this real world to wonderland,
Hovering like a magical hero on a broomstick.

Magic is music—
Music is love—
Love is the act;
Witness nature's timid tact.
Hands swinging together,
That dance on the ring,
Swaying beats—
That groove, that heat.
Rhythmic percussion of love,
Melody of magic.
It is their play, their tapestry.
They are siblings of poetry.