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Song of the Butterfly

Dr. Malabika Mitra



O butterfly, beautiful butterfly,

Evoked,

By poets, painters, artists and authors,

Who sing your paeans

Loves to imagine you as work of art

Epitome of beauty

Symbol of transformation

Of what was and what can be…

Exquisite, ethereal, weightless and fancy

Have we ever thought of your pain?

Pain of metamorphosis?

Did you wish to change, did they ever ask?

Perhaps you were happier lazing around

Nibbling on a leaf in your original state;

Liked to remain hidden,

With no aspirations to fly

Or, contest in beauty pageants

Amongst insects wild.

Did they see your pain…

Feel the fragility of your powdery wings

Delicate, vulnerable, yet so pretty…

As you laboured from flower to flower

To collect nectar.

Made to breed, to lay

All but to be achieved

In short two weeks?

Gone are the days

When you loved to merely crawl

Under a cool shade or in the sun;

Now you cannot even run

But must fly,

Do the impossible

In an impossibly short time…

Before you rest forever

Often pregnant with eggs and full,

Overburdened - you age too swiftly and die.

Your pain, your struggle, you lack of rest

Your tiredness

We never see -

We only capture

But what our eyes can see

Just your flitting beauty…

not your heavy heart,

As you bring joy, spread smiles

While within, your pain survives.


::x::x::x::



Dr. Malabika Mitra

 

[Disclaimer: The opinions expressed in our Blog are those of the author(s) / poet(s) and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of the Publisher.]

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