Thursday, April 7, 2011


Here the zephyr is fragrant with

The scent of sweet love permeating

In the souls, of the young and the old.

The spring has passed by in pomp and

Paraphernalia, in a royal chariot.

Who were in the chariot of spring?

The bride-maids of my daydreams!

The spring receded in a hurry without

Stopping the chariot here and stepping down;

Leaving, without gifting even a tiny blossom.

You are another beloved spring, my virgin season…

In the far off swell of the ocean,

With the beads of blue beryl, who scattered

The enraptured pearls in its lap?

It could only be Orpheus!

What made him leave in a hurry

Without throwing even a tiny pearl into

The river of tears, in this dark dungeon,

Closing the eyes of the mind?

My angel, your eyes are my beryl now,

The blossom of my heart, and I am

The pupil inside it, always visible there.

How stunning is the majesty of youth,

And your passions are of a thousand splendour

What made the great Creator forget to implant

Eyes of the mind to the smiling roses and for

The winged twinges of the soul?

You are the creator of love entrenched in me.

My precious singer, you’re my music too…

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