In that camouflage she was not
the daughter of a dark night,
even his doubtful eyes
were blinded, and there by
hangs a tale;
a caterpillar of many hues,
curious looking,
voracious apatite stamped
her presence and movement.

In his manicured garden she started,
leaf after green leaf first,
then flowers all,
petal by petal, scent too vanished,
a beauty eating beauty
had some queer poetic justice
though he failed to see that
there was something amiss
but her moves didn't stop
by creating nakedness
as a garden substitute
brown with green.

She proved insatiable,
when they made love.
first like flowered plants
bees pollinating flower
with the pollen smeared
all over her body,
then they copied
animals in heat,
rolled all over the place
like cats and caterwauled aloud.
He was totally lost
lowered all his guards
that's when tragedy struck.

When they merged like
poison and milk
in a deluge of
deceptive sweetness
he saw her turn in to
a vampire bat
and eat his heart.

Scientists say when the honeybees die, the people will die. That is horrifying. Not our imminent doom, but the extinction of the adorable honey bee. If you converse with these insipid creatures, you will discover bees are jocular and discerning creatures. They are sarcastic and even petulant, that I find to be risible.  Their immutable ability to enhance their minute brains renders their vocabulary elementary; however, their impish nature endears them to me. Honeybees aren't dying, but listen to their buzz closely, they may **** you with hilarity; at least, that's the buzz.

The midnight train roars..
In the coldest and darkest night
Bringing the dead and alive
All dressed up to vampires' party

The same vision over and over again
In my dream  I saw
The same foreign girl about five years old
Walking up the stairs heading to the roof

I have cold sweats when I am awake in fear..
Was it the girl? Was it her weird mask?
Terribly disturbing my life.. . constantly awake
Too scared to fall asleep...

She hides he face in a horrible looking mask
Perhaps her face is just as dreadful
She appears in my dream every day and night
Perhaps to tell me who the real girl behind the mask

A honeybee he is,
but how does he know
it's his brief to make honey;
never once it was  articulated anywhere,
following a faint tune of fragrance
he flies, crossing barriers, forgetting everything else.

This is a divine madness, his blood sings,
he is just an instrument in the creation of sweetness,
but when,
the rain clouds pour down in torrents
the flowers are laden with water
his honey tastes different.
In summer he hums a different tune,
in resonance with many fragrances that invite him,
as flowers vie with each other,
to let him have their taste.
Honeybee's tune now changes to a love song,
always remembered by the inebriated pairs of lovers
roaming in the gardens.
A honeybee he is, he is unaware what it means,
he is prompted by nature in all he does.