Dragonfly in the corner

Under the harsh glow of white- the tube light it lies, the once buzzing with life- dragonfly.
Her wings no more agile, flutter in the air of the ceiling fan, dead and light.
The intricate design that, which looks like a mosaic waved with care, moves with a rhythm that’s reeking of despair.
In the illuminated corner is the corpse of the feeble one; casting only half a shadow, stirring nothing around save her own reflection.

She was alive a while ago, when like a shooting star, she shot into my room, vast open windows welcoming it, with the wind blowing not too far.
She circled my room, twice maybe, then suddenly, as though tired of the motion, dropped to sleep, choosing the cozy corner- I thought it was her luxury.
A dragonfly in my room died today…the fluttering called it a day, like time is a factor that doesn’t any more matter.

The four silent walls of this room see a lot that dies within its confines, sometimes its memories, sometimes its thoughts, sometimes its times, sometimes its hope, but today, it was just a dragonfly…