Like moths and butterflies we all carry
Our larval thoughts ,a mental baggage
Of before we had came out of our bag,
Through the post-larval space of time.

Like them we had once gleaming tails.
After our tails had finally disappeared,
We would look skywards to spot birds
That would do three sorties of bodies.

Some times a bag that was our home
Seems very baggage we carry around.
With all our baggage we keep looking
Skywards for birds that made  sorties.

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