Autumn Butterflies Poem by Soran M. H

Upon the road of travel,
you did not know...
A false star
rises in the night,
confounding time;
you mistake it for dawn,
believing daybreak has come,
while the night is still moving on.
You look around, parched,
until your sight flashes,
and there, as far as the eye can reach,
you see nothing
but mirage.
And so the place changes around you
in a moment of drowsiness.
A grain of doubt
slips into the body,
travels the length of the soul,
until it settles
upon a mind
bewildered and suspicious.
It grows there,
until it becomes a king,
then turns into two eyes
inverted inside the head—
eyes that behold the light of dawn
in the glow of dusk.
And still you see the wind
blowing from East or West,
playing with the drifting down
of the dandelion.
As children,
we used to play with it,
and call them
autumn butterflies...
The dandelion
was a beautiful flower;
the wind would breathe upon it,
and it would fly far away,
beyond our grasp.
When we grew older,
we learned
what a catastrophe
life can be...
The storm
would carry them away,
and people made them
a sign
of autumn's arrival.
Ah...
Turn toward the shadows of days,
and break those frames
that, for years,
have kept the images
from setting themselves free.
Open those doors
whose keys were lost
in the swamp of doubt.
Those ghosts
are nothing but illusions;
terror keeps watch
at their gates.
They have placed
the chain of illusion
around the neck of life,
to sow fear within it.
Hyenas with blood-red teeth
walk before their eyes,
and still,
they blow with the wind
upon the autumn butterflies,
so that their scattering
may grow greater,
until they are dispersed
into the abysses of bewilderment.