Butterflies, who reckoned love triumphs
Helped me to seek the notion of spring,
And the nicety unearthed in the wilderness
Was deaf, blind and mute.
She saw me with her rational brain,
Spoke through her tasteful heart,
And touched me over the tenderness.
“What sees you in front of? “
Unto her, I cried.
“The star of all’s, sown
Eye-catching sheen in
The ploughed spring field.”
And she to me.
“And with what timbre does
Ear drums dance along?”
My qualm chased the sequel.
“The propounding beats by
Gore, fire-flowing in my artery”,
Her answer adored my question.
“Now, my touches?”
Uttered my mouth for the hindmost.
“In your downright flesh, which
Cherished the inertness between
My fingers, I see vividly-
Your’s alone outlooks, abolished fiction,
Moreover, the desire of a future with me”
The field, where she guided me,
Was where the spring blossomed.
Blooms flourished here wilts,
Nevertheless, never for eternity.
The grasses brushing my heels
Spoke of love, and love only.
And those patterned footprints,
We drew at the riverside of hope,
Turned out to be masterpieces…