The Futile Chase

Flapping its wings,
It hopped,
From one flower to another;
Creating a beautiful sight,
With bright hue and colour.

She was running behind to catch;
Working hard,
And sweating her way,
To take it in her grasp.

But as they say;
The closer you go,
The farther it flies away.

Not the story of a day,
Continued for ages - the play;
She would run through the garden,
Just to do - a futile chase.

One fine day,
The realization dawned;
She sat peacefully,
Enjoying the sun go down;
Getting absorbed,
In the lovely vista it formed.

Made her happy,
She exuded charm;
Her pleasant fragrance,
Adorned the air around.

Cynosure she became,
Calm and composed - was her frame;
Not bothered by the worry and hurry,
Not smothered by the thoughts of pain.

Who else,
But the butterfly itself,
Leaving the flowerbeds,
Made its way;
To steal the nectar from her smile,
And enjoy the caress of her breath.

The Dark Side

Its harsh,
Just rips you apart;
With its dagger-like tentacles,
Cutting deep into your heart.

With the shrewdness of a chess player,
And the strength of a boxer in the ring;
But alas, all the games it plays,
None of these, are fair and clean.

Masks of different shapes and colors,
Is what it wears,
To hide the treachery and deceit,
That it carries, without fear.

Murky and shabby like a swamp it is,
Once you get in, it just keeps you in;
And waits for you to start rotting,
And lead the life of a lowly being.

That's the dark side,
Of this world;
Which we call our home,
And in it, we twirl.