On his way to take home some juice
Mr. Buzzman sees the beetle strolling away
Out of sight
Without even a care to spare mere moments
For the beetle
He sails along with the yellow dust
Towards the blooming mono lights
Slowly as he reaches home with his body all sticky
He can’t wait to explain his day
And the part that was tricky
Out of words he later stops talking
Then his friends start
They portray that catchy scene
To explain him why the beetle moved apart
Soon the ignorants come to know about the fact
The children are joyous
But the wrinklies are too amused to react
Them little ones then plan to follow the beetle
Any how, use any tacts
Sure as eggs, they know how the old counteract
Soon without any notice,
The fresh brains form myriad pacts.
All day, all they talk of are their strategies
How the beetle walked past responsibilities
And home-bound tragedies
Busy on their own and busy as a group
They search for options,
Pluck out their preferences
About the dreamed of world,
But out of their lenses.
The fight is evident, so they quickly gather
The strengths, but all in haste
About what they need or what suits them
But to the old boys and girls, all of this is a waste
One knows and the other thinks he knows what is best
This dream of the west is an absolute parasitic pest
Time flew soon, and came to rest
On an unbalanced see-saw
Still the nymphs were unmoved by no rules, no law
One’s determination was rigid, so the other’s had to thaw
Little did they know how true ripe brains are,
How obtuse are the raw
After few more weeks, they think, we are out of their claws.
The garden seems empty now
No hums, no buzzes, no chirps, just the old hoarse caws.
The little wrigglers would soon realize how this immense pasture
Was so pure, so gentle, so welcoming, and without a single flaw.
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