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  • Writer's picturenathi nonsense


The sun is rising, The yawn of the city waking I hear the same old beat playing My feet moving to the beat rather than tip toeing, The noise on the street from all that traffic blaring The torn plastic bag and my spirit floating Minds silenced and bolted, but vehicles honking and deafening.

I watch the wings of the yellow butterfly fluttering, Across the narrow street, the only place you see a few flowers blooming It was fragile, and some may mistake it for timid But deep down we know, it is the only one winging its way through all this suffering, Something with which we all have been endlessly struggling and failing.

And as my eyes follow its movement, I see it’s body getting crushed to the cement “Oh no, what just happened”, I go and look over the pavement To see how as the day has dawned, a part of me has already died And absolutely no one is there to repent.

I can slowly feel the sweat trickling down my spine I can only wish to go back in time I don’t want to walk away, fading that fine line Which takes me to the other end, making me lesser of a human being but still a little divine.

I have to leave, I hear someone calling out my name, The traffic signal has turned red, and so have our souls, drowning in flames. It is now time for me to carry on with my daily game, I lie for a living and that’s my story, do you think it’s a shame?

So yet again, I put on that mask of mine, I go up to the blue car, I begin my rant, realising I’m just at the tip of my gold mine And as lay down the lies, I see their pupils dilate and eyes sympathise I may have shown you my empty frame, but not the bigger picture I’m hiding from you, I may have led you to that lonely window pane, but not a single footprint to that creaking door, far from your view I asked you to see my empty pockets, without leaving a trace to the treasure I own, far away from this zoo.

And if you think you are any different, Darling stop moving away, Because I’m running out of ink with my nib bleeding, Bleeding right next to where you lay.

You will try erasing it hiding from yourself and the rest, You will also put on a mask, something I do best. You and I can never be that yellow butterfly, so beautiful and free She had wings, unlike our vicious cloaks which lead to the fruit of the forbidden tree….

-Deeksha D’sa.

#i #you #poetry #poem #streets #busy

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