The pages are still blank, but there is a miraculous feeling of the words being there, written in invisible ink and clamoring to become visible. ~Vladimir Nabakov

Wednesday, July 1, 2009


Gentle spawns of winged illusions
Are these fluttering delusions I feel
In my beautiful emotions perfectly written
I write proud yet nonetheless smitten
Making yet another deal
In cocoon I seal
Asking for guidance I obey his say
As closing my eyes during pray I sense
Only messages of words written in precisions
Assembling poems with decisions
To publish this sanity
Of my livid vanity

Who cares what I write as it is read
My conduct is said to be heavy of lead as I write
Even though airy light are these small butterflies
Truth to my knowledge without lies
Yet nobody believes any
Only seeking shiny penny

Butterflies in my thoughts are so pure
As I cure these words to endure yet convey
Who am I to discover, and not share with anyone
My sugar poison killing me alone it's done
And laughs inside implode
As my words explode

As caterpillars we are born into this cloaked world
Waiting for rebirth as we sleep to be magically altered
In stages of pupa and cocoons, then emerging to fly
Children altered into beauty if indigo butterfly
Learning to soar and again feed
With absolute need

Funny and silly are paths of these fluttering
Observing them in distance, their scattering of joy
Working uniformly, collectively yet alone for themselves
Feeding only our own and ourselves
With satisfaction and pride
And do not dare hide

I am saddened by the world's hunger and pain
Slowly getting faded also and ending the sane decay
Lost in my writing so uninviting to many others
Calling themselves sisters and brothers
To my very own face
Lying with disgrace

Only pureness of butterflies shines in light
Not causing fright and disgust of these beings
Colourfully existing are these feelings we all feel
Though in darkness we exist and deal
With the unknown and follow
To become hollow

Why do we sometimes see beauty and butterflies?
Even as hearing the humanity and mankind's spun lies
Saying words unkind hurtfully casing nothing but pain
Of this visibly mortal world so insane
Catching with butterfly nets
Voiding all bets

Destruction, pollution, famine, lust, greed and hate
Is this who we are, is this our final fate we have set
For ourselves we call our neighbours to help us and aid
Stealing their brightness and light to fade
And hungry on pollen to feed
With lust and greed

Butterflies along with other stinging creatures feed
With drive to exist and survive to drink the savouring
The pollen of another flowering beauty amid this humanity
Yet again I fell to focus on the dark fatality
Of this world so astonishing
As we are vanishing

Beautiful are these fluttering creatures with features
Distinctive and so loyal in collecting the pollen needed
Co-existing beauty two peas in a pod we are no word of lies
We are beautifully equal with these butterflies
Dedicated to alter, seek and feed
Though with human need
We are butterflies