Story of the ants

Once upon a time
there were ants
lots of them
working all the day
carrying food
from where ever it is available.

Praised to be hard workers
they collected and collected
more and more food than
they can ever eat.

None knew about that
as they never got anything to eat. 
They fed themselves 
with whatever little they found
otherwise on their paths.

All the food they carried
ended up in their ever expanding storage
under the control of 
the much revered queen.

She also did not eat the food. 
She needed only a tiny portion of it. 
She however produced more and more ants
to collect more and more food.

She unknowingly awaited
the larger ants
who always attacked her storage
just before the monsoon, 
shifted all the food
to their ever expanding storage
under the control of
their much revered queen
who also did not eat the food
as she also needed only a tiny portion of it.

She also produced more and more ants. 
And the story goes on...
 
Wasn't there any reward 
for the hard working ants?

Of course there was...

Upon the very first showers
most of them got beautiful wings
flew towards the brightest future, 
flew and flew
till all of them lost their
beautiful but not-so-strong wings.

The only option then left
was to crawl to death
or to get eaten by
the scorpions that reveal themselves
from the neighbouring lands. 

Did anyone there
asked about the food the ants collected?
Come on! 
You must be joking...
Aren't you?

,..

Story of the river

Once upon a time
there was river
we were the river
we were with the river
we felt that there was river
we then found the river
playing on the banks of the river
we reached the banks of civilisation
as the civilisation spread
beyond its possible limits 
we killed the river
and ended our story.

Anyone knows how to restart?
,..

The beast...

It's with the knack of

an elegant tigress

that your eyes approach me.

With this burning desire

to be a beast again,

I every time

jump off my safety,

just to fall prey to

the unconquerable battle

thereof.

,..

Dancecoded...

The message of dance
reached me encoded 
in a rhetorical happenstance.
As I get into its rhythm
to decode the tune,
all the words in the message
start dancing.

,..

a holy dialogue

She again said it's god who is controlling everything.

I smiled.

She then asked me,
what image comes to my mind 
when she says god.

I said no image.

'No image?',
she was puzzled.

I said there is no god for me.

'How do you think everything came about?',
asked she.

I said chemical reactions.

She said its 'Him' who did it.

I asked 'how do you know its him and not her?'

She said the holy book says so.

I asked who wrote the holy book?

She said all learned men.

I said ok.
We then talked about ice cream,
butter-scotch and chocolate flavours...

,..

seasons...

Showing the withered flower that day,

she told me

'You should write a poem about it'.

I just nodded.

There were then more springs

and many more autumns

that passed in this meanwhile.

Suddenly by remembering her suggestion,

she queried

'I asked you to write a poem

on that withered flower?'.

I just smiled

'Where is the poem?',

she was serious.

I looked out through the monsoon window.

There were more flowers and many more poems.

'Oh my dear!

They both,

the flower and the poem

are quite drenched at this point.

Shall we get a bigger umbrella

and start picking one by one?'.

She looked at me

with her piercing eyes

as her eyelids resembled

an even bigger umbrella.

It still rains...

,..

a word a sea

One after another

I pluck the words

that move in the passing wind

and throw them into the sea.

The words that float and disappear

on the withdrawing waves

raise again as light

on the distant boats.

Only the word that reaches

the setting sun

gets dissolved in

the evening sea.

The sea that spills over

in the failing light

puts forth

a small poem.

Then by waking up

as one star after another

the universe

starts reading it.

,..