Butterflies & Landmines

by Aaron La Lux

“I noticed there are a lot of butterflies in Andrew’s art,
do you like butterflies?”
That was her question and my answer was “Yes.”,
who doesn’t like butterflies?

My answer to most questions that beautiful girls ask me is “Yes.”,
especially when it involves butterflies,
she wanted something from me,
but I did not wonder what or wonder why,
in a world of mystery,
sometimes asking questions just waste time,
plus I know she couldn’t have me anyways,
I mean I’m God’s I’m not even mine.

We were at the planetarium in Kiev,
finding a bit of solace,
in an otherwise stressful country,
cooling off from the Soviet furnace,
Kiev just wants room to breathe and be love,
still it sits right on the brink,
of an all out Civil war,
and a centerpiece for World War 3,

she smiled peacefully,
a sly sprite she was,
then took my hand and led me,
to a room two stories above,

we looped around,
a circular walkway,
we ascended,
adventures are my forte,
we ended,
at a doorway,
she pulls out a key,
this all felt like foreplay,
she opened the door,
and turned on a light,
then to my surprise,
what did I find inside,


Dozens of butterflies,
and a few small birds,
all flying around,
the site somewhat absurd,

she explained about her project,
then placed a butterfly on my nose,
none of this was really expected,
but I suppose that’s the way life goes,

after a few minutes,
of laughing and exploring,
I invited her back to my place,
I had oils that needed pouring,

we arrived,
at my 7th story apartment,
somewhere in downtown Kiev,
we felt high,
no drugs just pheromones,
I spilt oils feeling careless,

see unless,
you address what you suppress,
you will regress and not be a success,
still you try and suppress nonetheless,
look let’s undress and be blessed,
as I caress your flesh and you confess your stress,
profess the mess let’s cleanse the death with breath,
let’s let this be fresh and yes I’m impressed as you press,
chest on chest a recess from the rest next came sex….

she started the conversation again kinda sad,
even though she gave a compliment,
saying, “That was the best massage I’ve ever had.”,

even in joy the Ukrainians seems slightly depressed,
I guess that’s what happens,
when the threat of war constantly brings with it that stress,

she began,
to speak about things further,
saying she lived with her sister,
because she had lost her father,
she’s a a fatherless daughter,
with worried mother,
she’s the man of the house,
because she has no brothers,
a refugee in her own country,
she seeks refuge with her lover under covers,
see everybody suffers,
especially those that are lovers,
so our love is bittersweet,
like the chocolate we eat,
in this war bedsheets are our bunkers,
she plays with my skin,
fingers trace my tattoos,
she works with butterflies,
in a life of sin nothing is taboo,
who are you,
to judge us,
in a world of mistrust,
I’m not even sure we can trust us,

still she tells me her story,
and I listen faithfully as I hold her tight,
because I am all hers undivingly,
even if it’s only for this night,

we are eating blueberries,
I open the 7th floor window to throw the stems outside,
life in the fast lane outside a motorcycle speeds by,
we live and we let die ‘c’est la vie’ that is life,

she says she’s in Kiev,
because she had to leave Donetsk,
she got out when the tanks came in,
her words compliment her chin on my neck,
such a mix of emotions,
a story of love in a time of hate,
a moment of calm in a time of explosions,
a bit of peace,
in a world of war,
we are each other’s everything,
when there is nothing more,

I told you before,

she is a refugee in her own country,
forced to flee the Russian aggression,
there’s lessons in all oppression,
she spoke without discretion,
and left an intense impression,
we had a connection without any tension,
this is my translation of her recollection,
these are my words from her confessions,

she spoke to me directly,
under those midnight Kiev streetlights,
about how she hid in her basement,
with her mom and then they took flight,

before they escaped,
they heard bombs and landlines,
explode along with gunfire,
in the day and the nighttime,

now she was in Kiev,
working with butterflies,
searching for a sanctuary,
or at least some peace of mind,

what a crazy contradiction,
this paradoxical life is,
in a world of wrong,
it’s tough to tell what right is,
and I am not the decider,
I am just the one that writes this,
and I try to do so without bias,
even if I have the touch of Midas,
in a time of crisis it’s hard to be righteous,
so I just try and give moments that are priceless,
and when there seems to be no more hope to find,
I just relax my mind and get lost in her iris,

as the fires,
we live,
and we learn,

it all seems way to chaotic,
and the war drums sound hypnotic,
and the soldiers all seem robotic,
somehow this scene seems similar and symbolic,

the American boy,
with the Ukrainian girl,
under the street lights of Kiev,
in an apartment in a world out of control,

feeling like a butterfly,
in a hurricane,
feeling like this moment is forever,
even though I may never see her again,

see just when you think you’re on stable ground,
the earth shakes and you get caught in a landslide,
and just when you think you’re finally back on your feet,
you walk outside and step on a landline,

so what,
what the fck is my point,
I guess I don’t have one,
other than be thankful you’re alive,
be thankful you have the privilege,
of not having to run for your life,
be thankful you don’t have to leave everything,
just to have a chance to survive,
be thankful that you have a family,
and a safe place to call home,
this goes out to every refugee,
this goes out to every one,
the orphans and the runaways,
every one of us that’s ever felt alone,
I pray that we one day find a place to feel safe,
and finally find a house that we can truly call home…


The Poetry Trilogy: Vol. 4: Rebirth

Aaron Lux's picture

So much to write, with only so many lines, like so much to do, with only so little time, so really what else can I say, other than these words of mine, as I write this futuristic history, so we can remember these passing times... ∆

Last updated October 18, 2015