Butterflies float
On the barrel of a gun,
The cold steel glimmers
In the rays of the sun.
They open and they close -
Those butterfly wings!
They subtly remind me
Of a young child's wink.
Staring down the barrel
Of a weather-worn shotgun.
Whose double black, empty eyes,
Die to be undone.
Suddenly commotion,
The wings are winking faster,
One metallic click,
A beautiful disaster.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem