Friday, April 18, 2008
Whom are you worshipping always in your soul;
Dreaming when languor closes your eyelids;
Enveloping with your luscious kisses from your sensual lips?
Why immersing the flowers in shyness, with your smile?
Who is putting the make-up, of the autumn’s
Evening sky, in your countenance?
Who is writing love poems, in the corners of your doe eyes?
What all melodies are stockpiled in the rivulets
Of your ringlets, like the flock of goats
Going down, from the Mount of Gilead.
If I could become the gold braided wrap in your
Desolate bed of that chamber, where you sleep,
Your sandal fragrant soma could always
Entwine my bosom, with all the love you possess.
If I could become a butterfly, fluttering around
In your garden, I can always imbibe the nectar of your passion
From the chalice, of your intense desires.
In your dimples, I read the thumbnails of a love embedded saga.
Your surreptitious glances, shoot Cupid’s erotic arrows.
I keep open a thousand doors,
A thousand doors of my soul,
For you to enter in grandiose and together we
Make our haven in Shangri-La - YOU AND ME!.