In Memory Of The Burnt Bees Poem by Muhammad Shanazar

It was the month of December,
A swarm of bees perched in the mulberry tree,
Quite adjacent to my residence,
They were in thousands and deemed
To start the job afresh.
They hummed around when the sun came out
And kept busy at day time,
But sat jumbled at the sun set.
They hissed when someone went close,
At one night, a fortnight after they had settled,
A band of men came to extract honey from the honey-comb,
Which they did not make then,
I admonished them not to play the devilish game,
But they had their own will,
They were human but brute from within.
To avoid from their stings,
They adopted the easy route,
They set a bonfire exact beneath them,
First of all they hissed and then began to fall down burnt,
Some attempted to fly, escaped from the crown of creation,
Yet they all were damaged, most of them lost their wings,
The band of men could extract no honey,
Out of the immature comb.
After a while clouds emerged in the sky,
They began to float hiding the face of moon
They eyes of stars,
Then harsh cold wind began to blow,
The rain began to drizzle down,
And humanity went asleep snug in the warm houses.

Early in the morn when I woke, I beheld,
A gruesome sight and heart grew cumbersome,
With the load of grief,
Mostly the bees scattered burnt,
The ground around grew sable,
Numerous dead bees lay close to one another,
All supine with burnt wings,
My heart began to lament over the colossal wreck,
As naught remained behind in the branches,
They reminded me the nuclear blasts,
Of Hiroshima and Nagasaki when human bodies
Lay burnt in the streets similarly.
I apprehended fear of the future war,
When the heads of the leading powers,
Will become crazy cracked and launch nuclear weapons,
The world will meet its catastrophic end,
With no conqueror to celebrate the victory,
And no conquered to mourn on the plight,
But a hushed dismal amphitheater of burnt bodies.

Some of the bees that lay supine afar
On the wet ground seemed alive,
They imperceptibly moved their legs and hinds
But all helpless, I picked them all
And placed in front of the heating apparatus,
Most of them came into senses,
Some began to fly as well,
My heart felt felicity that I never tasted before,
But those that flew and those that seemed recovering,
All died in the next few hours,
As if they died of the after effects of radiation.
Dejection overshadowed my existence,
I was only to lament over their plight,
Men and women of the world were indifferent,
They had other cares, and worries to confront,
I sat pondering beside the charred bodies,
Of the bees that they gave us honey,
But we gave them death, death too painful,
Death too gruesome, death too agonizing,
Men of God burnt them with fire but God Himself
Drizzled on them cold water of rain,
Ah! It was sorrow. Ah! It was pain.