It buzzed around my ears and nose
Not apparent it’s deadly sting,
Can’t use the word lethal, can I
For, that has a more deadly ring.

When it flew down to my feet
Did I see the colour yellow,
Poison written in letters large
He had wings, the little fellow.

It looked so pretty hopping around
Amongst the flowers, it’s intent clear,
‘Twas only smelling them to get close to me
And, very, stingingly, near.

I flapped my hands and snapped my fingers
Reminded of that “malarial” entity,
A quarter of the wasp’s size, the Mosquito
But, the wasp was one for integrity.

It’s purpose clear, it was no less than a bloodhound
It smelt me from head to toe, to choose the place of attack,
I still wasn’t sure of its target nor if it had found
Where to sting and where to wack.

Wisdom, what little I had, came to my rescue, it did
I ran like hell,  pursued by the mustard- looking fly,
Faltering steps, the human tragedy
My eyes, in prayer, looking at the sky.

I have been stung by wasps before
Not all of them the flying kind,
They had wings of larger span
That left nasty memories, behind

Now, don’t wish to bring darkness in
For, that is all that “colour” means,
Leave acronyms well alone, Ashok
What a mess, in the world, is today’s colour “, scene.

I beat the Wasp to shelter
I managed a sigh of relief,
I was happy there is a God above
Greatly strengthened, was my belief.

Adios, Wasps of all kinds and shapes
At least, the Bees adorn my toast,
Left to the mercies of the Wasp
I’d be as brown as roast.

(The author is a prolific poet who has over 40 poetry books to his credit. He can be reached at ashoksawhny06@gmail.com)