By shreshta nair
Black beady eyes of the moth
Gaze at the butterflies iridescent wings
Resplendent is she, she thought
Cognizant of how much it stings
People flock to the butterfly
Its beauty rendering them speechless
While the moth seems to stultify
And gets slain for its dullness
Are they not woven from the same womb?
So why is she slain
For is it a sin
To not be appealing to the eyes of beholders?