If the flapping wings of a butterfly could, in truth,
Cause a catastrophic cyclone—
Then maybe, it was indeed the beating heart of mine,
The youthful flame, the firecracker exploding in the night sky,
That awakened the spring, the earth,
The sleep-walkers, and the day-dreamers.
From the deep core of the planet,
The lone traveler yearned, as thirsty as a dying camel;
To the intangible edge of the universe,
The innocent spirit searched, as determined as a crying child.
From the beginning of a circle, to the end,
From the origin of a zero, to the closure,
With flowers blossoming, the sun rising,
And thousands of seagulls flying over the sea.
Why, What was it— maybe, it was indeed that heart of mine, that flame, that firecracker,
Beating, and beating.