My mother's eyes look like butterfly wings when she dreams, which she does only at nights when she is fast asleep. And I sometimes have this weird itch to paint them orange and black like monarch butterflies. I wonder how Argus might have looked like when Hermes sang lullabies to him. A swarm of butterflies fluttering all along his body. Back to her eyes, She remembers none of her dreams and the few hazy recollections from her youth, are now reminiscences within the wrinkles under her eyes. Butterflies never stop fluttering Neither does her eyes, Nor does our eyes. They just change shifts from working outside itself, at days to within itself, at nights. She prepares the manure out of the kitchen waste containing remnants of her passion and sometimes the bane of the voices swelling against her insides. She waters her plants and looks at them as if her long forgotten dreams will sprout any minute from the soil, and she dwells in a dream that maybe someday they will fly high, around the heap of corpses of dreams belonging to millions of women like her. But they don't have wings, they will fly, only when there is a blizzard. And there is a storm already stirring inside her body with every breathe of stench from the corpses she withdraws within her lungs. 一Yashasvini,🌻 @weavedpoetry . Artwork : Summer Evening by Frederick Childe Hassam . ーー一 一一ー一ーー一 一一ー一 Tags: #dreams #poemoftheday #writer #poemsindia #globalagecaption #silverleafpoetry #weavedpoetry #goethe #mothers #feminism #poetry #poetsofig #creativewriting #poems #poetryisnotdead #poetryfeature #poemsfeature #butterflies #eyes #wordsofwisdom # #slampoetry #poetryslam #poetrycosmos #drunkpoetsociety #igpoet #abodeofpoets #globalpoetcult #heartofpoetsbloom #spilledink (at SWIPE) https://www.instagram.com/p/CC0jYPmFjFQ/?igshid=1w0hftwt8t015