Like caterpillars that rise
to the bliss of the blue skies
from the chrysalis of mortality
on the wings of the fairy butterflies,
we leave the shackles of your body
to embrace its kindred souls of dust, and
migrate to eternity’s solemn splendour.

Are we afraid?
are we afraid to explore the skies of eternity ?

Don’t preen my wings -
I told you, even though
In the beginning I was just
a caterpillar crawling through
a sweeping field of chrysanthemums

Soft, fragile
were my dreams and hopes of
admiring the robins, as they
thrash by their nearby nest
nursing their young
as the babes chirp, beaks wide open
as their mum feeds them hope
that someday they’ll fly like robins do

I hope I can fly, someday
I told you that
the night we feast on the leaves
of Milkweeds
in hopes of growing wings
like those robins
that we admire the most

Little did I know that
You started chewing on what
was mine, my wings-
are imaginary, you said
that my hopes and dreams
to be one with the robins
are farfetched

And you chewed, and chewed, and chewed

till we grew hard and tough on self-loathing
upon the realization that your
words are always the truth that
we avoid since the beginning
when we got drunk on that
Milkweed

I admit, that you chewed
and it forced me to follow

Don’t preen my wings, I told you
that time when we hang up by the
branch of the fully grown Hawthorn
along the red, plump berries

We ghosted each other
on the shell we were forced to take
Like those hermit ***** that we used to watch
by the thorns of roses, seeing them take
the burden of one another makes us
laugh

But as we sit in silence as the
darkness of our own making envelops us,
but I was, contented
knowing that darkness
is an old friend
and you by my side
is a way - a company
to spend the time
blinded

What happened?

What happened that night when
a gust of wind flew
through us, I felt the
chill of the upcoming gale
I shouted

but you are too busy

dealing with the darkness
you’re in

Don’t preen my wings, I told you
as I detached from the branch
that we used to hangout
as caterpillars

But we don’t crawl  anymore

Now I am nothing
but a fallen chrysalis
waiting for those mighty
wings of those robins
I admired so much.

I got the beak.

I tried to talk to caterpillars once
and when they didn’t talk back I thought
there was something wrong with me
but when they finally replied I
knew
there was something wrong with me
and maybe I tried to fix it
or maybe I didn’t
either way,
the fuzzy caterpillar voices
never stopped
and I tried my hardest
to avoid the tomato plants
skirting around them
in the garden of my thoughts
but there’s poison ivy around the edges
and I’m sick of the rashes
of losing it all to a half-bloomed rose
to the promise of growth
and the reality of a frozen season
of leaves being eaten
by the caterpillars
when I could’ve told them to stop.