Among the dissonance of the city,
busy selling myself to it,
never was there an evening
spend looking at little intricacies
of those honeybees,
their lack of tire
in their daily trade,
moving from the yellow flower to the red,
fixing deals on the nectar of life.
I wish I could capture this moment
but I’m not here anymore,
to wait; to watch; to learn.
Life has gone from bees to mosquitoes-
from suckling to blood sucking
and an unrest.
I wish I could write poetry.
