Even Past can be the Present

The wings of butterflies fluttered,
just like her eyes battered,
as tunes hummed itself,
vibrating the vocal cords.

Synthetic lens altered its colour weird,
yet difference in iris bothered me not,
for the language of her pupils,
spoke but only truth in innocence.

As the tunes hummed itself,
vibrating the vocal cords,
letting the flow of chemicals,
rush through and control.

For the language of her pupils,
spoke but only truth in innocence,
it lingered like mist though time,
in each and every vessel of mine.

For those were the days,
all the questions unanswered,
all the confessions unreciprocated,
all the love unrequited.

                                   0842

                            -20/07/2011-