Butterfly oh yes!
she feels the pain agony the sorrow
for yesterday today and tomorrow!
she conceives all all the sin
our deeds and the dream
and blooms in colors yet!
painting the heart on her tiny wings
for hours
still we are stillborn sttuborn in our goal
lust for power not the flower..
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
We are morons-only butterflies render us oxymoron..so truly said Sir