THE REBEL BUTTERFLY

The moment of possession  
Itself is the moment of losing.  
Quite simple it is  
To imprison the rebel god  
In one's closed fist,  
To kiss the sword's sharp edge  
And be overwhelmed with love.  

All is wonderful,wonderful.  
Perhaps the lonely butterfly  
Becomes immured  
In the horrors of war—
Bloodied, as it seeks the death-smell  
Of the time bomb  
Inside the soft petals of flowers.  

How easy it is  
To recognize life  
In the dissent  
Between possession and loss!  
  

Translation :
Jayanta Mahapatra