How does butterfly say to
eager child on its tail,
giggling, innocent, delirious,
‘run no more child. Come swiftly, lift me in your gentle fingers’?
Does the butterfly perch atop the child’s nose,
or does it wait till child tires, then
land on his fingers?
How does bird tell hunter,
the chase is pointless; long over before
catapult was loaded, pulled back, aim-ready?
Does it sing an inviting tune of lusty notes as it pretends to fly by?
Does it perch on a tree and flap its vibrant plumes?
Would it suffice to feign fright and fall to the
ground, though the stone missed
it by a feather’s breath?
How does the rose inform the clouds
she is ready for their gentle, then hard drizzle?
Does she stretch her bony branch skyward, her bed cracked
moisture-less, as the sun recedes after yet another day’s duties?
Would it suffice if her petals began to slowly
wither in wait as she thirsted, like I do now?
Would you understand this rose then?
Iquo DianaAbasi is a performance poet and her first poetry collection, Symphonies of Becoming, was critically acclaimed.