It is his game He and his cohorts He and his pawns It is a pure monkey chess Not the one we play crisp and cross Not the one we play with snake and ladder Not the one we play with bows and arrows Not the one we play with black and white In the […]
Tag: Anima
Poem : Morning Spells of a Worker Bee
Around three AM, he is awakeUphill, upon a solitaire gameLoving the heat of his sweatThe distance whispers of his honey queenThe nearness of the morning howlsThe mistakes and lazy gaze at the paining fingerThe smiling mirror in his fuming eyesThe smiling lips in his coupled mirrorsThe worker bee is dividing his bloodOne for his sweat […]
