Psychedelic butterflies and desaturated people
No wonder I sat and watched the world warp around me
Like the ripples of a frigid pond
That little boy's skip stones across and giggle
Their laughter floats through the tree's
And flit their dragonfly dance
From leaf to leaf without so much as a whisper
Glass wings a mirror that is cracked
Seven years bad luck and a pinch of salt over your shoulder
A crack, your back will never be the same
As our bodies are crippled by age
Still the butterfly colours are perfectly mad
And people are superficial and sad
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem