White Butterfly
White Butterfly
(To Diana)
A white butterfly flies over these concretes
searching for honey dreams, midst the catacombs,
the dark alleys, bins, dust, wastes, rubbishes…
I open my eyes, see the white flame there,
right before me, burning in a soft whisper.
I open my eyes to see the magnetic piece.
It sits on my putrid finger, suddenly
my body is alive, once more, producing
ambrosia for pure butterflies.
© 2009 - All Rights Reserved Kushal Poddar
(To Diana)
A white butterfly flies over these concretes
searching for honey dreams, midst the catacombs,
the dark alleys, bins, dust, wastes, rubbishes…
I open my eyes, see the white flame there,
right before me, burning in a soft whisper.
I open my eyes to see the magnetic piece.
It sits on my putrid finger, suddenly
my body is alive, once more, producing
ambrosia for pure butterflies.
© 2009 - All Rights Reserved Kushal Poddar