The Butterfly

By Arun Kolatkar

The is no story behind it.
It is split like a second.
It hinges around itself.

It has no future.
It is pinned down to no past.
It is a pun on the present.

It’s a little yellow butterfly.
It has taken these wretched hills
under its wings.

Just a pinch of yellow,
It opens before it closes
And closes before it o…
Where is it