Hope
By Ketty Nivyabandi
The old butterfly flaps its slender wings through the smoky air
exhausted and breathless
he flies over the ashy battlefields
and lays his powdery, golden trail
on the wailing grounds
he dives into the grey, dry seas
now a swirl of buttery yellows
deep, deep blues
orange blossoms and peels
he breathes in all the unborn flowers
and he lives.
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