The Poet Dragonfly
Upon a reed of dawn’s first light he sits,
the poet dragonfly-
a whisper of fleeting seasons,
a messenger of dreams spun high across the sky.
His tail, a sharpened silver nib
dipped in the ink of endless blue,
writes soft verses on the wandering winds
where words take flight and fade anew.
His wings, full of color,
a kaleidoscope of drifting thoughts,
shimmer with wandering hues-
each flutter a rhyme, each glimmer a stanza
born in the warm breath of summer.
His head, round as a meditative moon,
rests in luminous stillness;
and his eyes-homes to a thousand ideas
hold galaxies that swirl and fuse
into tiny constellations of wonder.
He dances on the breeze’s gentle thread,
a ballet of grace and light,
drawing invisible letters in the air
for children and passersby to see.
Yet when he leaps and loops like a scribe
writing alphabets across the sky,
children often rush toward him-
eager hands reaching, feet pounding the earth,
wanting to catch the marvel in motion.
Some, not knowing the hurt they cause,
pluck the nib of his delicate tail
as if replacing a pen’s refill,
slipping in a blade of grass
and laughing at their clever trick.
Others lift him like a stone to play with,
never seeing the trembling in his wings-
each small cruelty dimming
the poems he carries in his fragile frame.
Still, he rises whenever he can,
shimmering through the air
with whatever strength remains,
teaching a quiet truth in every trembling wing:
"Beauty is delicate.
Life is brief.
And kindness is the only language
that should ever touch a poet."
And so, in the gleam of his iridescent flight,
in the depth of his dreaming gaze,
the poet dragonfly drifts onward-
leaving a trail of verses
through endless days.


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