My cocoon tightens, colors tease,
I’m feeling for the air;
A dim capacity for wings,
degrades the dress I wear.
A power of butterfly must be,
The aptitude to fly.
Meadows of majesty concede,
And easy sweeps of skies.
So I must baffle at the hint.
And cipher at the sign.
And make much blunder, if at last
I take the clew divine.
a poem by Emily Dickinson
Ramya Ravi 