An Evolving Butterfly

Walking on a new land,
Hastening my pace,
To enter a garden,
The atmosphere evolves,
A new act of a scene in a play,
Warmth in its core,
Night befalls,
Clear sky,
Bright stars,
Majestic full moon,
And I find her –
Independent and surviving,
Colourful with a tint of struggle,
And so, I decide to halt,
Observing her wings blossom,
But it will take time,
Then I begin to move on,
Yet, I glimpse one last time,
Her passionate soul yearns to dance,
Taking my breaths away,
A free butterfly,
And so, I stay a bit longer,
Treasuring her presence,
And patiently awaiting the unknown future.


Branches to Snap

Little have I known about the
Depravity of a soulless branch,
The one that hangs its own
Head out of an ancient tree,
Loosely swerving left and right,
Storytellers around the world
Gather for a memorial service,
Serviced by the intellectuals
Of my distorted modern era,
And surely, I have noticed the
Absence of many immaturely
Malicious minds of many men,
Eyeing my crooked branch to
Snap beyond conceivable repair,
And let the storms ride over
The hunchbacks of these
Desolate Times of history,
The results of which is a
Sacrificial ritual to fiercely
Burn the ashen hearts of
Our Sun and our Moon,
And to beget another form
Of amorphous tree void of
Any symbolic growing letters,
Yet, its mountainous branches
Will feed on other crooked
Soulless ones like mine,
A repetitive scene that
Little have I known to
Have ever existed before.