Where have all the honeybees, long since been whisked away,
the silence in the fields of flowers, echoing their fate.
Their daily dance of humming, used to keep my mood at bay,
yet now an eerie madness creeps within me, as of late.
The gates of chaos in the garden, it seems have been unleashed,
thus rendering once fruitful engines, to a morbid state.
The humming of the honeybees, which now seems to have seized,
leaves everybody wondering, who’s there to pollinate?
And not at all the only victims are the honeybees,
for don’t you think, that lately, no one’s really there to sing?
And logical it seems, that if we cut down all the trees,
then what is there to stop the coming of the Silent Spring?
But gravest of the grave is not the nature’s slow demise,
Our mother earth is strong and will replace us in a breeze.
Gravest of the grave instead, is that no butterflies,
will fill our bellies when we fall in love, no “birds and bees…”
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem