Thursday, May 28, 2009
I will worship you standing at a distance
My peerless stunning goddess!
Your smiles look like the superb earth,
Clad in the radiance of the silver moon.
Who can foresee plucking a flower,
Even if it is ravishing on a branch
At our arm’s reach and precinct?
Though it is blossoming in the heart
Bountifully, who can predict if it
Could be possessed and embraced in the bosom?
Even then it is possible to adore it in dreams,
And revere it to the heart’s content, always.
Though the wind may quaver its hand,
Who knows if the blossom will drop down?
Who knows if it could ever quench the thirst
In the mind, though the chalice may be brimming?
Even if it is not imbibed, it is just possible,
It could be always felt and remembered.