Science Fiction Like Summer

Science Fiction Like Summer 

There is a sense of haste wherever you see,

Turn your eyes away from the summer flower and you see the busy bee,

She is buzzing from one flower to another,

And one wonders if she is seeking her lover or her insensitive tormenter,

But whatever it maybe she is there and the summer is here,

For now she has nothing to fear,

She can bear her flights of freedom,

And inspect her fiefdom,

But how long, how long,

Shall this bee to the summer bliss belong?

I can see the summer rose blooming in its prime,

Though it blooms a little earlier than its usual time,

And the bee that is still caught in the winter spell,

Her slow flapping of wings does something about her unease tell,

Awoken a little too soon,

As if the daybreak were not greeted by the Sun, but by the Moon,

What is this change she wonders,

But eventually to the urge to survive she surrenders,

And lets go her curiosity to know why it is so,

She flaps her wings and hither and thither she does go,

Finally she finds a flower to romance,

To harvest its pollen and take every chance,

To prepare for another winter and be worry free,

Ah, but she is the bee, who may appear worry free, but she is never free,

But today she acted a bit strangely,

She pondered on something pensively,

Then she ceased flapping her wings,

Examined her legs bearing the golden pollen rings,

She looked around the summer garden,

The sun was there; the flower was there too, yet the sight did sadden,

The little pensive bee,

As I wondered what the reason could be,

For the little bee to be sad,

Although her legs were completely in the gold pollen dust clad,

She flapped her wings again but in a rhythm that was awkwardly different,

And the flower danced a bit and now it seemed less indifferent,

And with every flapping of her each wing,

The flower danced and the breeze for them did sing,

A song only the flower and the bee could understand,

While I, in the summer garden, beside them, in complete silence did stand,

Then as if they sensed my presence,

They somehow communicated with my inner and never used sense,

Where all native instincts of life reside,

There the bee and the flower addressed me and they no more tried to hide,

And they said,

“You see this summer garden where beauty its last prayers had said,

This is where the flower lives and I visit him every summer,

And I retire to my honeycomb by mid November,

The flower offers me pollen and I offer it my loving hugs,

We both hear the train that over those hills patiently chugs,

I tell the flower tales of the train,

Few happy ones and few of disdain,

But you see, this summer the train chugged across the hills,

But the air in those hills resonates with mysterious shrills,

The pine trees have fallen and many lie naked,

It was not so few years ago, but this year the forest looks strange and the railway track looks crooked,

The air is filled with smoke,

We both feel we will choke,

And look at this summer garden in its bloom,

But do you notice wilting flowers, dropping carnations, and the view of gloom,

The garden was visited by summer beauty sooner than expected,

And you know me, to scents and beauty I get easily attracted,

So I had to wake up from my incomplete dream and from my incomplete sleep,

And as from my winter slumber into the summer light I did leap,

I realised something was not right,

There was something odd about the summer and its light,

As if summer had visited the place to soon,

Although it was early morning it felt hotter than the noon,

And as I flapped my winter weary wings,

And I tested the potency of my stings,

My wings too felt the same,

It was summer indeed but it did not feel the same,

Summer was here with flowers everywhere,

But many had wilted and many were blooming too early,

Even the willow branches had turned absolutely curly,

Which should not be,

Because the curling willows are not for a just awoken bee to see,

The river water was gushing like before,

But it did not feel cool and pleasant anymore,

And ah these butterflies seemed flying in a drunken state,

The summer heat had tricked them and they had been lured by the bait,

They had appeared from their cocoons prematurely,

And the flower confessed this to them peremptorily,

And they danced in the sky and fell to the ground,

Each butterfly was now gravity bound,

Weak and feeble due to the early advent of summer,

The tender breeze that would lull them, today seemed to be hitting them with a hammer,

And do you see that pink rose at the corner?

It looks drowsy, less radiant, wearing a look of a mourner,

It too has bloomed when it was not supposed to,

And I wonder where is the thrush and what became of the one to whom it used to sing to,

The nature’s clock has turned awry,

Don’t you think so, you too bear a look of worry,

Who is to blame for this?

And how long will it be so, can you please tell us this?”

 

I filled a deep breath,

And then I quoth,

“ Your worries are real and well founded,

Man and Woman have indeed confounded,

The tick tock rhythm of the nature’s clock,

I felt it the moment I looked at the hill, that now looks like a sun parched rock,

And the river’s flow no more bears the green shadow of the pine trees,

The prematurely blooming flowers look like desperate pleas,

To save the nature that sustains us all,

And to dismantle this rising and insensitive wall,

That is separating man and woman from its surroundings,

As they lie locked inside their high rise concrete buildings,

Where they feel nearer to the stars,

But far away and distant from reality’s wars,

Fought in the corridors of human life,

Where everything that cuts does not have to be a knife,

Just like you and the flower,

Being denied the right to feel like a lover,

In the mid summer joy,

That today lies trampled under the feet of careless and a wanton boy,

Whose name is Global warming and Climate change,

And you have been caught in their range,

The sun shines hotter and the clouds burst too often,

The cotton flowers no longer in the palm float and soften,

They seem heavier and paler than before,

The morning sun does not bear the soft warmth anymore,

Flowers wilt before they can be kissed by the breeze,

That flows in enraged bursts as if it had forgotten to ease,

A tormented soul seeking some respite,

From the afternoon sun and from the suffocating humid night,

The breeze does not feel cool,

It feels like Sahara heat trapped in sheep wool,

Firing out at will from those curly openings,

And it all looks as if nature has been cursed to abandon its free spirited dancings,

Its typical breezy prancing through the hills and meadows,

Everything that you look at looks like the grief of million widows,

The grass blades with their tips yellow,

Curse the heat of the sun that once was their dearest and darling fellow,

But they know not, it is not the sun that is to blame,

For it is just the nature’s humble flame,

Burning its soul every day and night,

To spread life through its light,

But with human development having taken few wrong turns,

You look around the Earth today, and you see everything burns,

With holy fire that has taken a vow to burn us all,

And it is so because of this rising wall,

Against which all your pleas of rescue get smashed,

And at the base of the wall million hopes and million dreams lie crashed,

I call it the crash site of hopes and dreams,

Where every flower, ever willow tree lies in agony, and screams,

"Why is the summer hot why has it arrived early?"

And they moan in pain and so dearly,

 As the mountain of rejected pleas, crashed hopes, and dreams grows bigger,

All of them stare at humanity like curses compounded together,

And with summer arriving on the train of haste,

Universe looks at Earth lying in complete waste,

Of all hopes, of every achievement, and every resource of good taste,

 It is a barren place,

Where there is no trail of grace,

And at the crash site of all natures pleas,

The star born beings summon under the shadows of naked pine trees,

Look there, do you see anything?

They are here to settle scores with man and woman alike,

And this is what the builders of this wall dislike,

It is time for all men and women to act,

They line up on both sides of the wall to draft the new pact,

And let me assure you, I will be on your side always,

For I love the summer flowers, the bee and the butterflies' endearing ways,

Now let me part and join the line that lies on our side of the wall,

Where you, me and many others shall stand as giants tall.”

 With this the bee hovered over the summer flower and left the scene,

To join me and represent the flower and every Summer scene,

At the wall where all hopes and desires piled like a stack of shame,

And we waged our war against those on the other side of the wall to make them realise their acts of shame,

And so, the wall bears a name,

“Let us save the Earth and rekindle the hope of good times and ignite the goodness’s flame!”

Many years have passed, the bee died long ago,

To this wall to raise my protest I still go, but in this tussle of human greed and ego,

Whoever wins it is the summer and the summer bounties that shall be lost,

And often at the wall when I am weary, I wonder at what cost, at what cost?

Are we losing every moment of grace?

And at what an incredible pace,

We are allowing the wall to grow taller,

As the summer in 2023 turns hotter and the summer flowers look a lot paler,

But my protest continues and it shall be so till the end,

For I believe someone with the golden heart will carry it further for me, when my life’s road no longer takes a turn or does not anymore bend!

Until then let me visit the wall and think of that bee,

For her shadows I often in my dreams see,

Where she often asks me,

“What became of the summer flower and what became of me?

Do you know?

And in shame I bow my head,

While she collides against the wall again and again to lie there at the crash site of hopes and desires, herself dead!

Now I do not sleep anymore,

For whenever I close my eyes, she flies by my side and says, “you did ignore, you did ignore,

All our pleas and all our requests,

In our absence, it is worthless, every human quest,"

But no one on the other side of the wall seems to care,

And those on this side of the wall are unwilling to accept the dare,

So the curse of the bee hangs over us all,

And this may be humanity’s ultimate fall!

Then all that will be left will be just this wall,

No summer joys, no hills with prancing breeze, only the wall shall stand mighty and tall!

And in the hall of fame,

Humans shall erect a statue to honour the bee and make excuses lame,

That it is nature's fury that nobody can tame,

So let the Earth burn, let the flowers wilt, let the summer arrive soon, let the bees die, for it is nature not us who is to blame,

And with this final and utterly irresponsible claim,

In the hall of humanity's fame, shall echo just one voice, "shame, shame, shame!"