A wasp,
Lurking dark
Into the night
Stung my palm
Ballooning my pain
Smiling the spot
I gained
His smiling image
How caring
Life is, in defense
The offense came;
Oblivious to my
Shadowy presence
It darted straight
Piercing its arrow
How sweet
The sting,
How muscular my palm became
Come to me
More often
To teach a lesson
By my heart, as
Is the sweetest reminder
To all, that
Pain paves a way
Where human voices, pale
In all oratory
The poet’s ruminations on a wasp’s sting reveal a nuanced and multi-layered insight into the human condition.
Thy every words mirror my sentences. How fortunate I am to have thy beat! So much thanks dear Sir Louis Kasatkin.