Mr. Butterfly.

There's a butterfly in my tummy, it seems
He's being a little crazy
No one knows what's in his head
That crazy little thing
He tells me of some sweet dreams
Dreams that seem better than reality
Dreams woven out of stardust
But I can't go any further I think
As I tiptoe across unknown paths
I can hear some song d'amour
I listen to it carelessly; I also hear a story
I don't know how the story begins
Or how it ends
I may soon be becoming someone else's person
For a season only perhaps 
Or perhaps, for one season too many
Who knows?
I bet Mr.Butterfly does.



I miss you, my beautiful Delhi Winters.