Guest poem sent in by Prateek Sharma
(Poem #1923) The Bee Box
In this small box, my love, you'll not find a ring, but instead, a brave, little bee. He'll be dead by morn, having given his life defending his flowers against me. I felt his sting while picking the small, purple pansies growing wild along the roadside, in hopes of an afternoon bouquet for you. And I grieved the sting, more for him than me, knowing full well the price he paid for my small pain. And I allowed him his victory, leaving his flowers as a memory, and brought you instead this brave, little bee, who proves there is love even in the smallest of things.
Form vs Freedom of Expression has been an age old question for art creators and critics. When I posed this question to our poetry teacher, she came up with this poem. This poem does not score too well on the metre/rhyme front. There are some grammatical errors and inconsistency in style as well. Yet, the poem just soars. The imagery is transforming. It touches us on a very human level. It says so much about love and courage. And about sensitivity. How much can we learn from this world and its creatures! Prateek