Little blue butterfly
Weaving through ribs
Ivory bars of the prison
Keeping a wanton heart
You tease and nip away
At the memories strung
On the branches of poor
Feeble lungs starving
Craving not air, but love
Mocking these desires
You sail away
Leaving naught behind but
Ashes and the powdery
Dust off diaphanous wings
To settle between crevices
Hidden by wasted winters.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem