The Housefly's Realisation Poem by Mystic Qalandar

I was born a housefly.
For most of my life,
I longed to be a honeybee.
Growing up as a housefly,
they told me:
"You'll never become a honeybee.
Stay a beautiful housefly—
as nature meant you to be."
But still I wanted to be a honeybee:
I wanted to be in presence of the queen bee.

I slipped in with the honeybees,
into the honeycomb,
drawn by the scent
of raw honey,
collected by drones
for their Queen.
Ecstatic, I found
a space near her palace.
I danced and buzzed
the honey-song,
and stooped to sip
from the golden well—
but my legs stuck fast
in that sacred sweetness.

I struggled and wept.
"Please, Your Highness, "
I cried,
"set me free! "

The Queen smiled.
'You were a housefly—
but you erred,
pretending to be
what you are not.
You longed to dazzle me
as a honeybee does—
to be my lover,
my winged songstress.
But that dream
was not yours to hold.'

The housefly, humbled, said,
"I wished only to serve—
to be near Your grace,
not to deceive."

And just as silence fell,
the paradox unfurled:

The Queen, in radiant mercy, spoke—
"But do you not know,
even the housefly
buzzes to My pleasure,
in its own strange rhythm?
Even outside the comb,
your wings beat hymns
I treasure.
Each being glorifies Me
in its own tongue—
and I hear them all.

Not all who love Me
need honey.
Some are born to touch
the shadows,
yet sing of light."

Then the fly,
no longer ashamed,
took flight—
not as a bee,
nor a moth—
but as itself.
Free.