By Pracheta Verma
I found a box near the sea,
full of butterflies, blue and green.
But the one I picked couldn’t fly,
so I kept it in the light, hoping it would try.
I tried to keep it jolly, tried very hard,
but after a week or two, it gave up hope of the sky.
It wasn’t willing to try,
said everything is too repetitive, just fly, fly, and fly.
“Why am I destined to be a butterfly?
Why do the ones who flew away never tire of this play?”
I said, “I don’t know. I’m trying too,
but it’s not in my destiny until I try.”
I also try very hard every day,
but find myself in the same dirty place.
I guess we’re just figuring it out,
so let’s try until our wings give out.