When the butterfly emerges, does the caterpillar cease to exist?
Or is it inner beauty, with an added twist?
When one life comes to an end, does another begin?
Or has the soul been taken due to sin?
When people mourn, why do others scorn?
Or do they not understand the extent of how torn?
When god created man, was it in his image?
Or was it something better, something that requires a bandage?
When an artist draws, is it for another?
Or is it for himself, when there are no others?
When there is love, why is there hate?
Or is hate put there just to complicate?
When Nature gives us beauty, why do we destroy it?
Or do we really think these scars, we can take back with whit?
When the butterfly emerges, does the caterpillar cease to exist?
Or is it inner beauty, with an added twist?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem