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Lakaw is a journey is a step is a move. I love to travel around the world and this is my travel and travel gadget site. Welcome and Enjoy!

0 comments | Monday, August 06, 2007

A Garden of Roses
by Eric Ariel L. Salas

I saw a garden of red roses,
so tempting for a pick
yet leaving me only the admiration for the beauty of it.
Just an illusion it was. A dream.
Then a dream I had.
A butterfly, red in its fullness
magnificently flying
diving and dipping
oozing and sipping
the nectar
from one red rose to another.
It was the sweetest nectar the
butterfly had ever tasted. It was red.

The juicy taste
and the candy-coated fragrance
the garden had to offer
made other butterflies
dropped by
and again dropped by.

A lone white butterfly then came.
How it flew so freely,
hopping from one red petal to another
not minding the scene nor its color not fusing
or melting with the others around,
leaping as though it was in a group of whites.

I was excited of a coming fight,
red butterflies versus whites.
Reds must win, so I thought.
It’s courage, it’s vibrant
yet sweet.

I waited for the reds to start off the clash.
Thorns gathered.
Stems pointed.
Leaves formed like breastplate.
Antennas sharpened.
Balls of nectars prepared.

All set.
Between the boundaries of their gardens,
they flapped their wings and raised their weapons
shook their legs,
fluttered their wings,
flickered their tails,
sharpened their eyes
poisoned their pollens and
looked at each other for the very first time.

But so surprising a scene I saw
With their legs shaking,
wings flapping,
tails wiggling,
eyes brightening,
pollens now perfumed
blended like one perfect orchestra.

As one happy family now,
they each flew again to sip nectars
to the garden of roses.
The whites didn’t go to savor whites nor the reds to their own.
Instead, the whites brought in some white nectars
and rained them over to the garden of the reds.
So does the reds.

Shaking each other’s legs,
hugging its other’s wings,
pollinating each other’s gardens,
no, no, it’s two
no, it’s five
no, a hundred
No! All of them,
Yes, all of them happily chorused
“ This is blending and it feels good.”

Note: This poem was made after an incident that almost got a very close relationship of two persons broken. She said there would be no chance that we could ever blend as one. She likes white, I like red. Then I said softly, “Let’s try it, we could.”



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