A flower in flight with glittering opal gleam
A flower in flight with glittering opal gleam,
drifts – a live spectrum in the enormous light
of tropic sun – the butterfly, as bright,
no, drifting, brighter than the radiant beam.
If out of shadows any threat should come,
it drops at once, folds its lustre away,
and gutted, among colourless decay,
lies the untraceable small shard of sun.
Flitting from my Brahman’s world fire within,
my soul through my own nature hovers in
His light, reflecting Him in poetry.
Should reason stalk me, jealous, arid, grey,
I’ll gravely, sagely weigh each word I say,
blissfully hidden in my mimicry.
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