with a soft flair sweet,
sublime in dress,
that chains my heart around.
feet that gracious are abounded
tressed, liked begs from cries
a blissful wishful sigh,
in mind's eye.
'tis unfair to leave me
from your magnificence,
or i will seek.
silvery tresses of moonlight cascaded
down upon the palm tree lined shore
where young couples slowly strolled
taking in the night's ambiance
tarrying on the sea air
an affection wave
played with joy
There be some juice. Light, we cannot drink.
Dark our days that trudge on, laden caravan.
There be some song, to the tune of the winds.
Parched, the baked earth thirsting for a caress
wet from the silken lashes of the sky maiden.
Let's talk to her tonight,
the last lotus is in still-bloom
in the folds of her tresses
as she goes about plucking
stars for her worship-basket.
Soon the earth is covered
in the misty offerings to Deities
at the far end of spacetime.
Juice some there be. Drink, we cannot light.
Caravan laden on trudge that days our dark.
The winds of the tune to song some there be.
A caress for thirsting earth the baked, parched
maiden the sky of lashes the silken from wet.
Let there be light, let there be.
Darkness, we have enough.
I am the tenderness in your eyes
When I hold your hands in mine.
I am the shiver down my spine
When your soft lips touch my skin.
I am the blush that colours your cheeks
When you smile at me in your special way.
I am the air of mysterious charm you carry
When you play with your enticing, enchanting tresses.
I am the hesitation in your voice
When you voice your deepest desires.
And I am your impulsive smile
When our eyes meet when its least expected.
I am all you are, I am all you feel
And yet, I'm nothing without you.
This Band, which bound thy yellow hair
Is mine, sweet girl! thy pledge of love;
It claims my warmest, dearest care,
Like relics left of saints above.
Oh! I will wear it next my heart;
’Twill bind my soul in bonds to thee:
From me again ’twill ne’er depart,
But mingle in the grave with me.
The dew I gather from thy lip
Is not so dear to me as this;
That I but for a moment sip,
And banquet on a transient bliss:
This will recall each youthful scene,
E’en when our lives are on the wane;
The leaves of Love will still be green
When Memory bids them bud again.