The Dead Butterfly

The butterfly with gauzy wings,
Flitted on from flower to flower,
Dancing to the bird's singing,
Waving in the soft breeze coming.
She rested on a piece of wood,
Near to where I watching, stood.

I saw the beauty that she was,
The rainbow coloured wings she had,
As she supped on nectar sweet,
In harmony with everything.
And I stood watching, watching.
The loveliest thing I had ever seen.

If she were to fly away,
I would never see her like again.
But so fragile a thing as she,
How could I always keep with me?
perhaps some other summer day
One like her would come my way.

Even as I musing watched,
A villain grabbed her little wings.
Watching as she kept struggling.
"Stop! Stop!" I cried out loud.
But he was not listening.
Picking up a long, long pin.
He committed the greatest sin,
As he pricked her beating heart,
And ripped her life from her frame apart.

He held the gay thing that she was,
Now unmoving, a lifeless corpse,
To be pinned down on a board
Kept with other butterflies,
For the sake of human eyes.

I stared in horror at his palm,
I was so shocked, he was so calm.
Finding joy in what he had done,
How could he? Oh, how could he?!
This base wretch who looked just like me!

- Nina Alahakoon (2003)