an infinitesimal
fissure on my cardiac fence
never to be witnessed
untold, unattended, veiled.
a drill on the scar
rises a twister
innumerable concentric rings
rippled; tunes of bilaskhani
smeared me all of a sudden,
sprawled like a pinned butterfly
never, never to spread
her colors of mist in the sky.
2 comments:
the butterfly is pinned down
in a lepidopterist's collection book
it was up in the sky,
playing with the flowers
just minutes ago
now it would never rise again..
the soft melody of bilaskhani
filled up the air..
probably the musician felt
the pain of the butterfly
could probably identify herself
with the pinned one
the pain goes away
but the scar stays forever
as a constant reminder
the cardiac fissure
remains too........
under the veil
away from the public eye
but remains nonetheless.
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