Interviewing A Busy Ant

To the right, a bit left, eh, is it fine now, here, I will pose, click now.
[Source – Pixabay]


Death, destruction, war and earthquake,

Out of these

The path to earthquake site we take.

We are on the move, us ants,

Closer to the ground, we can,

And we will sense tremors and flee,

For it is natural, O giant ban,

“You mean man”, oh, yes, sorry;

We will help the broken, the crushed,

We will liberate the dead.


Look that’s my uncle, aunty and foster paa-paa

Walking in a line, and my sister is at the top-aa (of)

The horizontal pyramid,

Our grit strategy, forward march, pebbles, and pray,

March, pebbles, pray, for all who died.


Ants’ reverence pheromone, invisible, strong

Makes a trail that we then track, and tread along

It, until we reach our… “food?”,

No, you want to be on that trail mat?

“Man”, eh, if yes, silly fool,

You must change the track, straighten your hat,

Tap your shoes, turn, leave, then take a right.

Us ants are on the path to the earthquake site,

“But why – last question!”

For it is natural – earthquakes come and go,

Wars don’t, it’s a destination

For some; unfair bullets hide and kill and lo,

No cliques ever enter the battlefield,

Or maybe they do;

A handshake to shield

And seal, a business deal.


Look, us ants are moving in speed,

The earth is muddy there, but we’ll lead,

“You’re doing a good deed.”

Good? It is only natural.



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Walking towards nowhere in particular QJ dared not to stop. For last time QJ couldn’t bear the pandemonium that started within when she dared to stop and nothing happened.

With fragments of that dollhouse in one hand and the key to its door in another, walking often becomes cumbersome and a dull routine.

Only lightning wakes QJ, though her afterthoughts always make an indelible note to herself to wake up before being struck. QJ later laughs loudly looking at her scars.

Lightning in full glory.
Image by Anja, from Pixabay.

Walking towards nowhere in particular QJ glanced at her umbrella. Tap! Tap! The umbrella changes its colour yet again, confusing its owner for a dash time.

Fill in the dash with a pleasant-sounding time period, a warm moment, and a lovely realisation. QJ wonders why she never tumbled while gazing up at the umbrella or the sky, maybe she should have stopped and asked the path.

Instead, QJ makes a funny face, fidgets, and gestures to no-one around her that… oops, she almost fell. Click! Train of thoughts leave a compartment at a station at this moment.

QJ ate dreams, but not the ones that came true. Work makes you hungry for more work, it makes you kind towards your dreams. And this is your prize.  

Walking towards nowhere in particular QJ is joined by the others. All assuming it strongly that everyone knows better than them.

QJ didn’t agree or disagree for hours full of ages and once upon a time when she did, they all left her immediately to follow someone else.

Just a mangy, horribly plump in the middle, slow dog stayed with QJ. It smiled (or didn’t), but those remaining teeth, all-dancing in opposite direction made her feel that every 21st-century disease, malady, sickness was represented by that slow dog.

Hell yeah! QJ cried for the dog didn’t die, but just slowed down further and sat on the path, resting, waiting. Hell lingers.

Walking towards nowhere in particular QJ thinks about faces, veneer in fashion, layers, surface deep dialogues, and her reactions.

A trap! Superficial flamboyant messages received and sent. Afraid of any change, she blindly accepts repetition.

Walking towards nowhere in particular QJ takes out an empty map and begins to draw.

Lines start to run and form a track. QJ retraces her steps and finds her first direction.  

Towards the first direction.
Image by Oliver Mbrax from Pixabay

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Meredith and the Green Lake

It was not the depth of the green lake that stopped Meredith, but the quietness.

She threw a stone, sending ripples in the lake, which emphatically made the quietness more evident. This silence scared her, for she could hear her mind talk ceaselessly.

Sitting under a tree, Meredith gazed at the path she came through and saw a tiny bird, green and yellow in colour, happily hopping near it.

Her childhood wish to become a bird made her smile. She took out her diary and wrote –

Like a bird I’ll fly

One day

When the chains will rot

At 7:45 dot

And if the spirit remembers

Out of deep slumber

That I can –

Searching for a word, Meredith happened to glance at the tiny bird that was now hopping near the tree. She then observed that the path through which she came had vanished.

She got up and looked around as if the path would walk back and settle where it was laid before.

Confused, she took a few steps in the hope to find the path. Was the path just in her mind, she thought.

The tiny bird hopped towards her and then flew away. Meredith noticed, to her amazement, that there lay a fresh track – the steps that she took, formed a new path.

Meredith felt her heartbeat increase; she then walked towards the lake. Ponderously she turned and found the fresh path stretched to the point where she was standing.

Amused, she walked ahead, giggled and hopped, only to stop and write in her diary –

That I can choose to either

Follow or make a new path

Meredith picked up a stone, threw it in the lake, and beamed.

It was not only the lotus flowers in the lake but the music it played that left her mesmerized.

Beauty of green lake and lotus. Image by Prawny from Pixabay

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