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
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