Fear of Freedom
Now the freedom to fly,
the content butterfly,
oh! those delicate wings,
uniting those cruel eyes.
The fear of flower,
its dear is now far,
waiting eagerly,
with the passage of hours.
Flower, the shadow of mother,
who bears the fear,
whose flying girl,
is now not close to her.
Imagining the horror,
those terrible terror,
if its butterfly is secured,
she still bothers.
Now that pearl gets as she guessed,
now nervous and embarrassed,
the freedom is a trap, wings are no longer fresh,
that flower for life caressed.
Copyright © Simran Aggarwal | Year Posted 2015
|