Death Of A Butterfly Poem by Aimanu B. Ali
Death Of A Butterfly
New curtains hung
Floors scrubbed
Till shone as mirror.
New recipes tried
The whole house transformed,
Now a battlefield
Strategies formed
A battle to be won.
Like a battle-worn soldier
She stood aloof
Impassive face apathetic eyes
Scanning the flurry.
Suddenly she was seized
Shoved in a car
Off to some beauty clinic.
Face scrubbed eyebrows plucked
Make up and all done
All illness cured.
A metamorphosis for the caterpillar
The butterfly stood facing the mirror.
The hour of bargain approached,
Displayed before strange eyes,
Scrutinized for a flaw,
Flurried by questions,
Here mercy is unknown.
She quailed in pain,
Must she go through the ordeal
To receive the bliss of marriage?
She shrank with shame,
Mistaken for coyness.
Her fate is to be chosen,
A woman is not to choose.
The butterfly lies motionless,
Her wings are broken now.
Herein lies the difference between feathers and wings, a woman is not a feathered creature like an eagle meant to soar high, rather she is a winged butterfly, not to fly freely on the blows of winds, but to reach from one to another flower...such is the limitation of women-folk here in our side of the world...with the exception of a rare kind, the general lot is the same...here Death is not something physical, not feeling free to exercise one's choice is also Death... i'm not 100% sure of my interpretation but i read it like this... thank you for writing and sharing this poem... regards - - - - - - - - - -
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/23/2024 5:07:00 AM # 1.0.0.1119
I really enjoyed reading this, but when I got to this part: Her fate is to be chosen, A woman is not to choose. I was perplexed and shocked. Where I live, women are certainly free to chose. Nobody makes their choices for them. I was drawn to your poem because I have one with a similar title. It is called 'Butterfly of Death' and I invite you to read it. Thanks.