In the cold darkness of the night,
she wandered and got lost.
Flickering light from a distant lamp
beckoned her in the nightly gust.
With hope, towards it she rushed,
flapping her lustrous, mottled wings;
only to meet with her lurking death
on the hot surface of the porch lamp.
In the end, it was light, not darkness,
that deceived the poor butterfly.
Note:
Inspiration to write this poem came when I was at a hotel in Winnipeg, Manitoba at a wintry night (Yeah, in winters, people call the city Winterpeg) in 2010. I was there for a training at the University of Manitoba. The city was covered with thick blanket of snow. I was done for the day and was back at my hotel. It was a little too early to go to bed. So, I stood by the window and took in the wintry view. I saw a lamp post, with moths hovering around the light, some of them falling dead apparently due to the hot light bulb.
flapping her lustrous, mottled wings;
only to meet with her lurking death
on the hot surface of the porch lamp.
In the end, it was light, not darkness,
that deceived the poor butterfly.
Note:
Inspiration to write this poem came when I was at a hotel in Winnipeg, Manitoba at a wintry night (Yeah, in winters, people call the city Winterpeg) in 2010. I was there for a training at the University of Manitoba. The city was covered with thick blanket of snow. I was done for the day and was back at my hotel. It was a little too early to go to bed. So, I stood by the window and took in the wintry view. I saw a lamp post, with moths hovering around the light, some of them falling dead apparently due to the hot light bulb.
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