Whenever I forget dreaming about,
A Butterfly comes and rests on my eyelids with compassion,
And gifts me
With a dream and a smidgen of poetry.
When I walk away becoming an ascetic
And a Sufi mendicant at the Vaitarini*,
Leaving behind the Sarangi of Faith and the Flag of moonbeams
A butterfly landing on my fore arm flapping its rainbow-wings
Initiates a dialogue with me
Like a very fast good old friend
When I watch idly the coquettish waves on the blue seashore
Or, the voluptuous clouds wafting aloft on the azure sky,
A butterfly courses from nowhere
To spray honey over my lips.
When life loses its fragrance,
A band of butterflies
Dwelling on the arbor of Goldflowers,
Descend on my book-of-life
Like multi-hued letters.
Whenever the darkness of
Tenuous humanity frightens me,
A tiaraed butterfly settles slowly
And prognoses like a priestess of the Oracle
Flood-lighting my way all through.
When I pen a poem on the cheeks of Time,
A butterfly flies down ever so delicately
To settle on my peacock-plume pen
I go in search of an island of butterflies.
I was, perhaps, a butterfly myself in my last life.
There’s a chest of butterfly-tattoos on my chest.
Today, I started off searching for those butterflies
Which bestowed wings to my thoughts
And dabbed them with every hue.
Vaitarini : Is a river that all souls are supposed to cross to enter the pathway to Heaven