Strokes

Moths and butterflies are plenty around
Never did I care of their difference to be found
Nocturnal is what moths are, they say
Butterflies are diurnal in their own way

They roam around with their wings spread
Saw splatter of colours as they freely tread
Deciding to dig their history a bit
Beside a pupa and cocoon I eagerly sit

Expecting an idyll of romantic beauty
Waiting am I to write a poem ‘tasty’
Days and weeks go by only in vain
Watching them merely was sheer strain

Hanging pupa livens all of a sudden
Struggling butterfly come out open
From the cocoon writhing in pain
Out came the moth of life plain

How they look alike I wonder
But different they are to the core
Two legged beings we are from a distance
Yet poles apart in our mind stance

Hurt and pain may slice your throat
Never allow them ruin your life boat
Insects or men, birds or beasts
Joy is abundant in their personal feats

Rush quickly toward light like a moth
Not to be killed but rise from sloth
Wander freely in the day like butterfly
Stream of light bless when you fly

Ending my retreat from the routine
I shed my tears of wisdom in line
Thanking the insects living in accord
I bend to learn from the strokes of God