of complacency or anxiety,
black thoughts paint me a fire fly
that emits light mere in the darkness.
I am like the flowing air
neither I have head to think
nor the arm to catch,
I am an invisible entity full of joy
and pain free.
I’m not a flower smeared
with human blood,
I am not colored
with the drop of bloodshed
oozing from a wound of human scalps.
But I know a few flowers are born
to be worshipped on the feet of God.