I saw those blue butterflies fluttering
Around my white daisies
and slowly with pin dropp care caught
them with my net.
I then ripped out their colors,
dropping them naked on the wet ground
burned their wings till they flew ashes
which I stitched again with a rusty needle.
A touch of perfection glows as it’s
framed lifeless and dump to pink wall.
Catching all the whispers of silent admiration
who read the words engrossed under it
“Flight without a soul” with the
sheer of a genius.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
awesome and ingenious...