The Hive

I should be drinking honey;
to me this café’s no more than a hive,
but in a parallel reality where bees grew wise
and built for themselves a world of their own
that too, like them, buzzed and whirred,
producing more than just honey,
feasting on more than just pollen,
their taste more refined to the culinary delights
of cow, lamb, chicken and pig,
roasted on fires,
stewed in pots;
oh how they buzzed with thirsty glee
when the fleshy odours swam beneath their wings…
but halt now!
What shall be their Queen?
Shall they praise the tea leaves or the coffee bean?
They’re not the creators.
So, in place of potted plants
stands a grand tropical cacao,
the true queen of creation
whose leafy majesty feeds on the most royal delicacy,
the heart of man;
a crude design of nature that never learnt to fly.


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