Immobile on the street was she.
Left for the spiders to feast upon,
Left for death to slowly clasp its iron fist.
She of divine beauty and grace.
She who typified freedom,
And everything the world should have stood for.
She whose mere thought leads us to lush green meadows,
And open fields.
Little could us humans understand,
All that she could teach.
Of the open winds, the green grass, the colourful flowers,
And her airy dalliance on river banks.
Thy suffering left me distraught.
Tears fell from my very soul,
To see you struggle against death inevitable so.
Death, that seemed overeager to snatch you into its grasp.
As I watched her suffer I wondered aloud,
"What beauty can he appreciate,
He who cannot appreciate yours?"
And yet, the answer can clear to me,
Beauty is dead.
This inspiration for this poem came to me when I was walking this morning from the metro station towards my office. On the pavement, I noticed a butterfly(the one in the picture) lying on the pavement. When I looked closer, it wasn't dead, but barely alive. It was just about moving and struggling to get away from the sun and into the bushes on the side of the pavement. Ants were gathering around it in anticipation. It is definitely all part of the circle of life but I couldn't but help feel the part humans had paid in its demise. What was it doing in a concrete jungle like Gurgaon? This particular species of butterflies was one of the most prevalent around 10 years ago but today we struggle to see even a single one. Watching first hand one of this now die in front of my eyes was a moving experience.
"One hour from now
Another species of life form
Will disappear off the face of the planet
Forever ... and the rate is accelerating."
-Dave Mustaine
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