The dark hours she spent,
Staring at the family photograph,
Smiling at the familiar faces,
Craving for the good old laughs.

“I’m there in the middle”,
Whispered a marred heart,
Those faces were so captivating,
The picture was a fine art.

Her lonely gaze deepened,
As the reality emerged strong,
The child in her was fooled,
But she couldn’t hold long.

Her mother’s love had scarred her,
The tender touch was savage,
Her father was a REAL man,
but his daughter was born damaged.

Her body was a masterpiece,
Engraved with words of gold,
But those carved by her family,
Ran deeper through her soul.

Finally, one blessed night,
She fell numb under the moonlight,
Carelessly dreaming of love,
Leaving the collapsed body behind.

Just then a thought pierced my mind,
Will they ever try to find?
The child from the photograph,
Who went missing one night?

Hey Butterfly,
Why don't you flutter by?
Just spread your wings,
And dive into the sky.
For who knows for sure,
If the world ain't upside down,
In the ocean I might breathe,
In the wakeful might I drown.

Hey butterfly,
Aren't we two alike?
One dead other dying,
One gone but the other still trying.
And we might meet again sometime,
Where I'll be the butterfly,
And you the stranger,
Who in solidarity stood by.

Hey butterfly,
Your stillness still reeks of life,
And somehow I can recognise,
In our wretched togetherness,
The essence of what we share,
A unity of being,
Of you and me,
My dear friend, I bid you Goodbye!

I look for love in the strangest of places,
In broken bubbles and innocent traces,
In wet noses and waggy tails,
In solo talks and worn out phrases.

I look for love in the strangest of places,
In playful hearts with the highest of aces,
In hypnotic eyes and crafty stares,
In distant voices and starry spaces.

I look for love in the strangest of places,
In dreamy visions and foreign faces,
In numb cheeks and dry lips,
In cold hands and reckless embraces.