*To the butterfly that never became a dragon*
Perhaps it was,
the wrong place and wrong timing.
Wrong moves for the right type of Monarch.
I see you.
Moult after Moult,
Emerging more glorious than the last time.
Liquid fire dances on your wings,
gracefully you take your place,
dedicated to the motions
You toil so honey may touch the lips of those in your court.
But with selfish hearts they reach out their hands and pluck out your wings…one after the other.
Maybe it’s a wrong vibe your youth sends out through the land whenever you beat your wings.
Maybe it’s a wrong rhythm my heart pounds whenever I think of your plight.
Maybe you lingered too long in one place, for one flower.
We may never know.
But butterfly, you would have been a dragon by now.
Original photography by:Josephine Kuuire