Butterflies

from an old friend...

I am a mere exhibitionist with bad grammar, spelling mistakes and of course a distressful sense of sentence construction. Despite all that, here is a little piece that I shall wait for you to react on. These butterflies hover in mid air around my head. They flap their tiny wings into gusts of wind, sometimes even tiny whorl like cyclones that appear and disappear just as fast as their simple flapping. What do they wonder, I sometimes think, when their tiny, fragile wings flap and disturb the wind around them? Do they know the havoc they cause to my heart with their little game – chasing, flying, diving, rising like little mad children running around in a green, boundless garden with large mounds of grass and pits of sand that look so ordinary to me and you? Well sometimes I guess it does not matter to them where and how they fly, what they fly to and back, but flying itself that ignites their souls and inspire them to being all that energy from within, as they slowly wrap their wings close to their bodies and then let them slice the air as they open again, only to ask for more from these gently creatures. Every stroke that they make to stay up for an infinitesimal amount of time in air requires more and more effort each new time. Oh! The agony of their mindless games that escapes all reason and logic, all justifiably explanations and theories – why, why, why do they do it and why don’t they ask me to join in and fly around with them? You might say to me – fool – you don’t have wings, and without wings, how can u even dream of flying? But that itself my dear, is the reason why you are so very wrong. Only because you cannot see or feel my wings, you do not entitle yourself to tell me that I cannot dream – even if it as about flying. In fact sometimes, I wonder why you don’t pay heed to the call of those yellow butterflies. Can’t you listen to their cries, can’t you feel the little gusts of wind breaking on you skin and almost trying to hold you – trying to lift you with them and telling you – hey come fly with us. Don’t you now realise why those butterflies they fly? Even as you walk through the garden, don’t you stop to ponder why the butterflies don’t run away from you, why they surround you and keep flapping all around? They are not afraid of you, as you may think, they are just carrying on with their game and even they are confused when you refuse to join them. The reason why they flap, the reason why they play, the reason why they don’t fly away is because they want you to fly. They want you to find your wings, open them, and not feel afraid or shameful, but spread them as much as you can and jump. Jump with them and fly. And at this point, even god wonders why you stand their with your wings spread open, free from morals and prejudice, free from all that bounds you to your so-called life, and simply refuse to fly.