The Fluttering Of Her Wings
~A spiritual poem
I saw a butterfly,
Maybe a beautiful one.
Oh! how could I be aware,
Of its beauty in the sky?
I had to wait for an awaiting flower,
The flower; ready with a blossomed splendor,
To still the flattering of her wings.
A silent witness of mine,
A blossoming flower dripping like wine,
The sunset reaching the time for dine,
And hungry wait of butterfly to sit and shine,
Oh! this moment of beauteous nature is divine.
The flower received her guest now,
The butterfly sucking honey now,
Me desperate for stillness now,
The winds too blowing now,
Oh! the moment turning eternity now.
A blossoming flower,
A futtering butterfly,
A waiting me,
A blowing wind,
A dripping honey-drop,
A spreading scent,
A waiting moment;
A moment that would lead,
The stillness of fluttering,
And display of glorious artistry,
Drawn throughout her wings,
Maybe by creators’ mystery.
Alas! she neither stopped her flutter,
Nor could I see the splendor beauty.
Because the metaphor of butterfly,
Represents my mind;
The hidden beauty, beyond my eyes;
The silent witness, my soul;
The flower, my master;
The dripping honey, his grace;
The fluttering mind, my ignorance.
