Saturday, February 26, 2000

Queen of bees

I LIVE in my beehive,
Far from the busy town.
Calm, quiet are the surroundings,
On my forehead is the grand crown.
I am the queen of bees, as you know,
They serve me and I look after them well.
On my command, in one go,
They come to me and bow low.
Perched on flowers, we suck honey,
Thank the flowers and fly away.
For their honey, they charge no money,
They are very nice, Imust say.
Man is cruel, he drives us away,
He tortures and kills us.
But we are no less, we sting him and,
He cries in pain and makes a fuss.
Man breaks our hives for making honey,

  That heartless creature has no pity.
We are rendered homeless,
But we are determined and
Again we fly to the city.
Such is our life, the life of honey bees,
Buzzing and buzzing away to glory.

— Anupreet Kaur Paik

A tiny place

I COULD never understand,
the value of a quiet existence.
The worn out, wrinkled hands of my mother,
always irked me.
She occupied a tiny place on earth,
making airy spaces for others.
So that they breathe freely,
happily, floating like petals of a flower.
While she remained — a root
of the flowering plant.
Its my turn now, to take root,
in a garden..... for away.
Searching, making way, huddling into my own little place.

— Shaili Dhagat


HOW radiant is the rose,
What a charming flower!
Everyone falls in love with it,
In seconds and not in hours.
It has the best shape and grace,
Of all the flowers in the fields.
Attracts the onlookers towards its face,
Captivating them with the aroma it yields.
Matchless is its beauty,
And matchless is its face.
It is the king of flowers,
One cannot say less in its praise.
When plucked and thrown here and there,
Its bloom departs and gloom descend.
Looses its grandeur and goes in despair,
The life of the king thus comes to an end.

— Amit Sahai