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It's not scary to be the first butterfly in your world, darling.
I don't remember the warmth and shelter of the cocoon,
for it was not I who huddled in that crowd,
but my predecessor.
He died on the threshold of this colorful world. He was just my dream.
Do you know how dreams are forgotten?
Both good and bad.
You need to look out the window
and look at the rising sun.
And any memory of a dream disappears.
You try to recolect it,
and there is a thin dotted line.
You know, darling, the bright sun of love burns all the memories that interfere with it.
I am the firstborn.
My yellow wings flutter against the still blue blue sky. It is also winter below.
Last year's grass was ripe for winter and this year's, and they managed to accumulate green juices, both covered with hoarfrost of the March frost.
Your blue martens leave such clear marks on it. Your footprints.
I'm mentally looking for a flower.
The butterfly must sit on something colorful, fragrant, full of nectar.
But that's not what I was born for.
Not for that.
I was born to fly. As the March primrose, snowdrops and rust announce that spring has come, so the first butterfly announces that summer will come this year.
And it will be warm.
And there will be a sea of colors.
And a butterfly flies to each and is inspired by its fragrances and drinks its nectar.
Pollen from her pet will remain a flower,
and her nectar will give birth to a pupa, butterflies sleep, wrapped in a cocoon.
This is a simple formula for immortality in butterflies.
I will not sit on the flower.
I will not inhale its fragrances.
I will not drink nectar.
I am the first butterfly of your New World.
My yellow wings flutter and write the prologue to your saga. Read these letters correctly, because you have to write the rest.
You dig fragrant soil, thirsty for heat.
You sow a flower garden.
You weed. You caress the Flower.
She is waiting for Butterfly and accumulating nectar. You need to water the Flower and protect it from the wind. He can enjoy her aromas and drink her sweets.
You rejoice for them
and know that life is eternal…
© Copyright: Valentin Luchenko, 2011
About this poem
Zen Joga Poetry
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"Butterfly Monologue" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2021. Web. 3 Dec. 2021. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/110480/butterfly-monologue>.