Another butterfly is born - Adwaita

 

Unwilling-willing blind to world's bright dance,

through wildwoods of ideas I grub-like crept:

through reeking, murky reaches no wind swept

no beauty pierced, askew, with sun-forged lance;

full-coloured French and German’s stringy plants

with fibres filled my caterpillar maw;

daunted and tempted, I set out to gnaw:

Baumgarten, Fichte, Strauss and Rosenkranz.

My autumn stormed upon me; and I spun

a thick cocoon from endless, drab distress

to shut the world out. Silently and long

I waited. Till I left the chrysalis

and flit through nature now and my own song:

your yellow swallowtail, Oh Brahman’s Sun!