The Dying Wish of a Butterfly

I was a dying butterfly,

Craving to be acknowledged,

Craving to be held for my beauty

And how could I not?

After being isolated,

And growing through all of my gloom.

After all that I’ve passed

I still flutter my wings and bloom;

And oh these wings,

My glorious wings,

now broken and bruised,

That have carried me through it all,

That took me away from the tongue of the frog,

And pierced through the layers of fog;

When it all came down

They still danced with the wind

How could these wings, overlooked and oh so tired,

not crave to be told how strong they’ve been?

-Mauli Nautiyal