As One, We Heave

We can always sense the storm coming.

We flee indoors minutes before.
Our hive mind electric just knows. 
The vibration sings
through the particles that govern us. 

We know exactly when to escape.
We are programmed this way. 
Each of us a tiny marching brain cell. 

You could never understand our language.
It is beyond telepathy. 

We don’t bite. 
We can. 
But often, we don’t. 
Having said that,
you wouldn’t want to meet our Australian cousins.
Now they’re rough,
always spoiling for a fight.
They need no provocation.
Toothed, venomous and mighty.
Avoid at all costs.

In general, though, we’re a nice bunch.

We move as one dark swathe of blanket
along walls, when the heavens pelt outside.

Sometimes, at the pinnacle of summer heat
after a luscious bounty of rain
we grow full-bodied
sprout wings
ready, willing, hunting
with only one thought in our tiny minds
our one big super mind.
Mating. 

Our nuptial flight.
Our amorous swarm.
You must suffer us,
it’s the only way we can spawn.

The queen – for there is always a queen –
is the egg woman. 
We are hatchlings of instinct.
You could say we are made of pure instinct.

You cannot imagine the strength of us.
Don’t bother.
You could not conceive it.

Still, we are a good omen
for those who labour.
For the sweat of hard work
will burn you pure
and bear the fruit you deserve
for the relentless machine
that you are.



^{_{© N Nazir 2021}}

^{_{Google images}}

Written for dVerse Poetry Prompt: Creepies and Crawlies, hosted by Sarah.

You can read another insect-inspired poem I wrote here.