Hive Light

Poetry by Rushika Wick

Cover of Issue #3

This article is part of Issue #3

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Here is a signal -

              a clean dance

                             in locked half-light

                                          within the heat of May,

                                                         during these pollen days

                                                                               of bright intoxication.

                                                                               Seeking intoxicants

                                                         of existence, we signal

                                          status all day

                            a crazy dance

              of more without bounds & may

feed until sick on endless delights,

awake late, burning light

              in mass reproductions - toxic

                            water, knee-high river tides in May,

                                           & falling leaves signalling

                                                          last moves of the dance,

                                                                              on the glittering dais.

                                                                                Hive debris dazes

                                                         drones who try to alight

                                           her, feeling the queen’s dance

                            of cellular sexting & intoxicants,

              obedient to her elegant signals,

come what may.

Her counterfeit queen, never may

              remain & is forced to flee, living out days

                            on the outskirts, reading signals,

                                           ascending politics, setting drones alight

                                                         & reeling in royal jelly intoxication,

                                                                       making a wild wing commander out of dance.

                                                                       Disappearing Disease or The Last Dance -

                                                         maids abandon the hive in dismay-

                                          their plastic-bag knees rattle with toxins.

                             The end of their days is the end of our days-

              our sweet struggle for hive-light

leaves us in darkness, fingering braille & signalling

                                                                       for help from the fall of toxicity,

                                                                                   knowing the demise of their dance

                                                                                            signals a new time after May

                                                                                                                ending our days of light.

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Poetry by

Rushika Wick

Rushika Wick is a doctor and a poet based in London, UK, with an interest in the embodiment of social contracts and conditions.

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This article is part of Issue #3

Cover of  Issue #3
Extinction / Reconnection / Redesign

This issue explores Indigenous fire management in Australia, plant resilience in disasters, nature's role in conservation, innovative food initiati…

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