Beneath the Buzz

by Tazeen Erum

The Drone

In a ring of happy blossoms—

some clamped by stem,

others brushing petals by chance—

a single drone buzzed,

unwinged, earthbound,

hating the pull of gravity.

         The Blossoms

Caught between the soil and the air,

they wished for him

to circle for their nectar errands:

to ferry pollen,

to chase sun,

to scatter their colour-dust

across untended gardens.

The Tether

Sometimes he wandered away,

for a garden of his own,

but a bitter incense tether

fetched him back to the cluster,

and his buzz grew louder.

The Storm

When storms reddened the horizon,

a shadow danced around each vein,

to dim their bloom,

flush their hues,

sour their scent,

and the petals shook in fear

of every crimson drop

and a raging flight.

The Song and the Valour

Then every sparkling dawn

a sad solo serenaded,

of his missing, blissful solitude.

And during the dull dusks,

he hummed of his corded sway—

wings frayed in epic combats,

strength sapped by nameless swarms.

His kingly crown,

a hollow husk,

he set it abuzz,

trapped in the muted cell.

The Prayer

Then all beautiful blossoms

folded their stems

and threaded a prayer

for their restless guard.

They dimmed their colours,

mellowed their scents,

whispered their laughter inward,

to hush the hum that pressed their sky.

The Flight and The Gifts

And when he grew his wings anew,

he flew afar, for ruby nectar

in the queen’s haven—

whose silent, sly sweetness,

absorbed his bitter clamour.

The hush, the break.

On his rare returns,

laden with pollen,

with the glow of distant Eden—

he buzzed of his gifts:

sparkle for their sunlight,

some drops for their rain,

his thunder for their song.

The Erasure

The blossoms bent beneath his gifts;

their petals dried, curved and twisted,

their heads bowed to the place of return,

the last gush of wind carried their soul

to some thirsty soil, fertile, abloom.

Even in fading, they found a giving—

a grace he’d never name, nor see.

The Wish

And in their silence,

a wish unfurled—

to love their passing colours,

fragile, yes, but unforgotten,

to gleam in their own light,

brief, radiant, unindebted.