The teachings of a Butterfly

I was reading Em and the big Hoom,
when I came upon a sentence that read
"A butterfly is banging on the windowpane
and I must now rise to let it out."
This reminded me of the numerous times
I'd observed this and how I'd always thought
about how stupid could the insect be
to not remember the little opening,
where the two windows merge,
from where it came inside, which was
hardly 2 centimetres away from
where it was struggling.
How could it not see the opening or
feel the faint incoming of wind ?
I don't know if it was the effect
this book with red and blue pages had on me
that I read all the sentences
with a different perspective.
I have a thing for pretty books. Or
is it the fact that this book was darkly funny
and about mental illness that made me think so deeply
upon a mere butterfly banging on a window.
How did I ever have the audacity to call
this insect stupid when all of us are in fact
almost always trapped in a viscous spiral
we got ourselves into ? We're the human race,
apparently, pretentiously, with the
highest amount of intelligence that any
species on this planet owns. And still,
how do we not figure out what got us where
and what harm are we doing to ourselves ?
The problems we tend to have.
The hurdles we tend to never be able to cross.
And the one's we label as unsolvable.
How do WE not see the acts that landed
us in this Gordian knot and how do WE not feel
the faint incoming of a panacea to all our problems,
which could always be right there and always had a
blind eye turned towards it ? Why did i think I belonged
to the greater, intelligent species when in fact
 I just belong to a larger, genetically evolved species?
I'm sorry, you little butterfly. Next time you're stuck,
I'd rise up and let you out of your little trap instead
of questioning your intelligence. Because,
if I was ever stuck I'd genuinely appreciate
help getting out of it, without being judged.

The Midnight Mystery.

Why is it that the things you want to say at night,
The words you managed to put together to finally say what you needed to,
Seem no more important when the day sinks in
And the words seem to have lost their ways to a perfect sentence to spill out through your mouth and lighten your heart ?

The night where you hold your most genuine feelings,
Seem equally bizarre as the sun shows up.

The things you felt so passionately about,
Things you finally mustered up the courage to share with someone,
Appear to be as unimportant as the feelings of the minuscule creature you could kill.

Why does the darkness seem to give you courage,
when the light is entitled to do just that ?

Why is it that the night brings with it all the emotions you could attach with every thought of yours,
And the day seems to shove all those emotions back into a black box never to be revealed.

Is the darkness like being drunk ?
Taking away the consciousness but giving you the courage to speak your mind.
And is the day like a hangover ?
Where you'd hold your head in dismay afraid if you opened up your heart to someone when you shouldn't have.

Why do your deepest thoughts shared at night start making you feel more and more exposed as the day kicks in ?
Is it a fear of appearing vulnerable that the day brings with it ?
Why does it feel like the thoughts shared at night would be forgotten past a good nights sleep
And the same spoken during the day were bound to give you chills ?

What mystery does the darkness hold that makes you feel fearless about sharing your feelings,
And what consternation does the day bring with it that makes you shut off, lock and throw away the keys to the box of your emotions ?

Why does the night feel like a close friend ready to listen to the words engraved on the walls of your heart,
While the day seems like someone who'd laugh at your face if you opened up to them ?

The Circle.

It's an amalgamation of
Nascency and its upshots,
Avalanches and their overcoming,
And finally the end and its cataclysm,
This life.
And among all these occurrences, apocalypses may occur disrupting and moulding the circle of life.

But also, has there ever been a perfect circle without the sharpness of a compass ?