...............i see nothing rational.

......I see nothing rational,
except a hive and,
a cluster of honey-bees.

..when the Christmas light slows down..
losing in the hands of a nemesis
named twi-light(or tonal-equality)
here come three musketeers..
treading on a tight rope
promising a tough fight
but losing lives single handedly..
in the hands of virtuosity.

...rope was not at fault
even the bamboos were not at fault
not even the people gathered around.
it was their hearts..
which when became laughing stock,
while treading on a tight rope
they found people mocking at them
mumbling about their pink cheeks and..
hammered chins.
they couldn't bear the laughter
they couldn't bear the whine
lost guns in the hands of 'speaking mimes'
so what if there was a' rational gun'
a rational mind to trigger that off
there were hands
there were palms
reading the line of life
and then again,crossing the line of brain,
always a line of heart.
which too doesn't listen to the musketeers..
people with 'arms'.

....but it listens to a perpetual bee-humming
a conundrum of its sort
and it understands a tale wagging dance
a method in the loop of its sorts.

.....A hive is hive
made in heaven
it seems as the honey-bees are always with plans.
a promising future..
between well structured walls
a shell of its kind
blind in love with honey-bees
and inclined for the 'sweet-sauces'.
......nothing penetrates the mood
except a bee trigger
why is there a method in the hive?
why is there a dance in the bee?
why is 'relief' so uncertain?
why is 'scent' so unconscious?
that while giving a peck on its cheek..
flowers don't wither
flowers don't flower
they just remain 'flowers'
dressed in 'indecency'
unwrapped in 'limits'
making love with a honey-bee
moaning,to get soaked in trigger.
.....a 'calyx' working as a nail
a 'corolla' working as a sheet
'pigments'working as stains
and then a lot of emotional fluctuations
caused by the 'breeze'
keeping the process in' ease'
so how was the 'day'...?
how was the 'night'....?
how was the moment..?
and how was the ''love-pride"..

.......Love-pride came as a 'scar ' on the flower's cheek
a painful sigh in the lover's breath
that night ,the flower clamped its petals
it never came to see another moon-light
a glycerine one
a white.
........botanists rumoured this 'an affair'
twi-lights mocked this 'a fling'
wild-talents peeped in the matter and
then whisked away....
No one went to the flower
to feel the 'pulse'
to smell the 'odour'
to smell the 'irrationality'..
which resurfaces the flower as a 'flower'.

........Flower had nothing 'constructed'
except the 'faith'
to fall in love..
and then remain silent.
........SINCE THEN I SEE NOTHING RATIONAL
EXCEPT A HIVE
AND A CLUSTER OF HONEY-Bees.