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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