Death of a bee

It must be the chemical that messed with her brain

They call it pesticide, she was a pest 

She is disoriented, exhausted and lost 

She collects honey from flowers on the sidewalk 

Flowers signaling a color spectrum that only she could sense 

There are quaintly suggested landing sites, markers to nectar 

Meanwhile electrostatic pluck pollen to gift 

She flew back to hive recollecting every turn on the waggle matrix 

To do her own dance for a new template 

But today she just couldn’t as if memories were wrangled 

She flew low on the street, rested a while on the table of roadside restaurant 

The noise, the commotion she created 

They yelled and swung at her 

She still had some reflex 

Before hit by the vehicle 

She slid on the windscreen and tumbled on to the path

Convulsed in the memories of her dancing sisters  

A clockwise step and a anticlockwise sidestep to tango 

Jingle that mean move for the move     

The sun was bright and sky was blue 

And then it was all dark.

Shadow etched on stone 

8.15am Bright explosion, searing heat 

Man waiting at the steps

for the bank to open 

gets incinerated to shadow 

etched as guilt

 forever on humanity. 

Minds work for centuries

to conceive neutrons 

to strike fissile molecule 

to create miracles. 

Instead it’s the guilt 

that grows in every mind 

And try to dream 

the simple dreams that lived till 8.14am