Why is the butterfly behaving strange?
Instead of flapping its wings,
It is sitting on the frond steady;
Between its serrated wings, colors
Are hidden and legs are weak,
As if to die it is getting ready,
Why is it not getting soaked in dew?
Instead of jumping on petals,
It is stuck to the trembling stalk;
A ominous storm has blown away its
Love, leaving a void in garden of life,
And it is cursing its bad luck.