Who Am I?

“Who am I?” asked the little butterfly from the early morning ray…

“You are warmth, my dear” replied the ray.

“Who am I?” asked the little butterfly from the flower.

“You are a blood sucker who sucks my blood to live on, you fool” replied the angry flower.

“Who am I?” asked the butterfly from the child, chasing to capture her.

“You are beauty, my darling. You are the colour of life. I want to own you”, said the eager, excited child.

“Who am I?” asked the butterfly from the Gardener.

“Oh you are the attraction of my garden. You are the grace”, exclaimed the Gardner.

“Who am I?” asked the tired, little butterfly from the coldness of night.

“You, actually, are No One, my love” said the piercing coldness of night.

The warmth of next early morning ray touched the little, dead butterfly and asked, “Who was she?”

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3 thoughts on “Who Am I?

  1. An inspirational and profound piece of writing with beautiful and wise thoughts. I enjoyed reading it. Many people write but their work is more about skills and less about feelings. This piece reflects both. “Likhta hoon Asad sozish-e-dil se sukhan-e-garm
    Ta rakh na sake koi mere harf per angusht.”

  2. The momemt I read the poem, I loved it! I loved the theme of your poem that love/hate/friendship is directly proportionate to the utility we may or not have for those who happen to be related to us. Reminds me of my own one liner, “Nightingale sang in autumn and died!” .I’m fascinated by your strong and successful endeavour to break through the smoke screens and reach out to the soul of love. In a world where even love is weighed upon logic, reason, gains and losses, cashing or uncashing on; the bitterness with which the poem has been concluded is a natural phenomenon! Keep writing, dear!

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