*"You are Beer-sheva, the garden of the seven lights, and I desire to dwell in you forever." Your lips recite sparks of light clothed in mystical words, your body is an esoteric tent, and the wise meet to observe you. Your golden skin, a scroll where the angels write the desires and the care of the heavens.Your beautiful ******* are divine sphinxes that hide the honey of Wisdom.Who will be worthy of you to feed? On what lips will you distil the sweet and sublime honey that flow That I may be worthy to drink of your honey, and that my mouth have merit to prove the waters of your fountain, for you are the Shrine of the Divine, the dwelling place of the Holy Presence in this world.You are Beer-sheva, The garden of seven lights and I eternally desire to dwell in you. " Sipra Shefatai Tevuna (Lips of Sublime Understanding)*
Deepak Sankara Veda
Jan 19, 2017
Jan 19, 2017 at 7:31 AM UTC
"Il n'y aurait pas de poésie si je ne l'avais pas entendu parler à travers les chansons les anges chantaient par la bouche parce que vos lèvres sont les portes du ciel".
Jan 7, 2017
Jan 7, 2017 at 9:03 AM UTC
*It is the Sabbath, and I am pleased to fulfill this high mitzvah and lead you to Paradise. It is the Sabbath and Shekinah Queen floating over you waiting to take you. It is the Sabbath and your beautiful ******* distil in my mouth honey of your secrets.
Tent of all Mysteries is your magnificent body. Your skin is my scroll and your follicles as the letters that God wrote on your magnificente skin and your belly adorned with my kisses. Hieroglyphs are your tattoos, sphinxes puzzles, the codices of the angelic scribe, the Angel of the Face, keeper of all secrets.
Destil out the liquor of your illuminated Vergel and feeds my world, like dew dripping morning. It is the Shabbat and your river flows now from your Eden to water my spirit. I hijacks thoughts your perfume. It incense aroma of your garden.
It's the Shabbat and already prophesies thy mouth the voices of Celestial Academy, whispering in my ear your high pleasures at the apex of your ****** revealing your messiah, your hidden light, creator of all my miracles.
It is the Sabbath and your Tantra connects the earth and the heavens, as a mystic linhame fabric with your esoteric moans. It's the Shabbat and you are the my highest mitzvah, the most sacred precept.*
Sep 9, 2016
Sep 9, 2016 at 10:44 AM UTC
*You were my altar! About your ears I recited my prayers, my waking prayers in my soul by the contemplation of the beauty of your magnificent lips, the esoteric contours of your body and my spirit wanted to hear the songs that emerged from your mouth, delicate whispers aroused by my whispers in your ears.
You were my altar and I wanted to enter your temple, go beyond the veils that hid your mystical sensuality and behold thee naked, revealed before my eyes. My mouth wanted to reach the honey of your ******* and sweeten all my judgments.
You were my altar, and my lips constantly wanted the wine in your mouth, revealing in my mind the secrets of the Divine that dwells in you.
You were my altar and on you I recited my songs, my sutras and litanies written in the siddur of my soul.
You were my altar, my esoteric Garden, and your Lotus was my heavenly song, the Bhagavad-Gita of my heart. I was your Arjuna and you was my Krishna ... ".*
Jul 25, 2016
Jul 25, 2016 at 7:21 AM UTC
*Goddess of my Awakening dawn. Let me observe your illuminated skin, the divine and sacred scroll on which God wrote my mysteries.
Your golden follicles, the infinite world light receptors and creation, are the crowns on the letters of the Holy alphabet noted on your wonderful body.
Your nakedness is esoteric and when you gently Spending my eyes, revealest your sphinxes, angelic hieroglyphs are the notes in the score sung by Serafim.
Goddess of the dawn of my awakening. Your lips are the divine Edenic sources of heavenly delight. Your kisses are horseback riding chariot igneous creatures, souls sparks coming through my mouth to rest in my spirit. What could be more sacred than emerjantes kisses of your mouth? What could be more divine than your beauty and the light of your sensuality? Es, therefore, the object of my poetry, awakened in my mind the esoteric view of your magnificent *******
Goddess of my Awakening dawn, Princess Christed rof aurora of my soul. Kiss me and make me your scribe, the immortal annotator of your mystical sensuality.*
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 4:34 PM UTC
"Perfumes up, who poetess for a woman, it makes her as a mystic rose, exhale about themselves, their fragrance of her sensuality."
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 4:12 PM UTC
Português
"Lembranças, fragmentos de pensamentos que tivemos, vidas que vivemos. Este é o nosso purgatório, nosso inferno. Sim, estamos mortos. Nós destruímos a terra e já não mais vivemos e tudo o que nos restou foram as lembranças, fragmentos de pensamentos que tivemos. Estamos mortos agora...".
Francês
"Souvenirs, des fragments de pensées que nous avons eues, vit dans lequel nous vivons. Ceci est notre purgatoire, notre enfer. Oui, nous sommes morts. Nous détruisons la terre et ne plus vivre, et il ne restait que des souvenirs, des fragments de pensées que nous avons eues. Nous sommes morts maintenant ..."
Inglês
"Memories, fragments of thoughts we had, lives we live. This is our purgatory, our hell. Yes, we're dead. We destroy the land and no longer live and all that remained were the memories, fragments of thoughts we had. We are dead now ..."
Italiano
"Ricordi, frammenti di pensieri che abbiamo avuto, vive viviamo. Questo è il nostro purgatorio, il nostro inferno. Sì, siamo morti. Noi distruggere la terra e non più dal vivo e tutto ciò che restava erano i ricordi, frammenti di pensieri che abbiamo avuto. Ci sono morti oggi ..."
Espanhol
"Recuerdos, fragmentos de pensamientos que teníamos, vive vivimos. Este es nuestro purgatorio, nuestro infierno. Sí, estamos muertos. Destruimos la tierra y ya no vivo y lo único que quedaba eran los recuerdos, fragmentos de pensamientos que teníamos. Estamos muertos ahora ..."
Dinamarquês
"Memories, fragmenter af tanker, vi havde, lever vi lever. Dette er vores skærsilden, vores helvede. Ja, vi er døde. Vi ødelægger jorden og ikke længere bor og alle, der forblev var minderne, fragmenter af tanker, vi havde. Vi er døde nu ..."
Mar 20, 2016
Mar 20, 2016 at 7:47 PM UTC
*Silence! The voices stopped. The only sound I hear is the wind howling over the stones, the ancient building ruins, heaps ravaged by time punishes them as an invisible whip. Even the demons are silent now ...
I hear the most croaking frogs and even the sound of crickets filled the night with their songs. Rooster was. His voice was quiet for forty-two years. The only sound now is the voice synthesis of old hardware, metal head that red-eye placed on top of the old marble counter.
- Sir Water? - She asks - The radiation level is low today - finished. The same song sung once a week. The voices? They were silent. Demons are silent now.
Ahh! I wanted to hear the voice of the old rabbi, that white-bearded long peyos when he said to pay attention to the little voices, the voices of the humble, enlightened wanderers, sparks of mystical alphabet, warning humanity that the day would come when voices calariam.
There inside, the demons remain silent. Their voices were silenced by the voice of evil that planted residence in the left chamber of the heart of man the temple.
The ghetto is cold today. People gather around the fire lit inside the old barrel of oil, black blood, called him. It no longer exists. The veins are dry and the blood no longer runs more ...
The white spots covering skin. It should be a good sign, but it is not. Leprosy went devouring the souls of men, women and children. Neither the animals escaped. Contaminated are exiled. They send them to the valley of oblivion where the voice never will rise. They used maliciously. They slandered her. His calumnies were launched in the wind like the leaves of the old oak tree that stood in chaiim forest. He also stopped. The wind no longer howls more through its leafy branches.
Ahh! Where is the voice of the rabbi? He was dead by religious dogmatists. His bright sparks no longer crackle through the air. Even the demons no longer speak. They shut up inside.
Where are the voices of poems and poets? It is also silent. They were causing itching ears of humanity. They accused: - the mighty were the leaders of nations, with their palaces decorated with blood. Blood of the innocent. They made them shut. They caused itches to power the ears.
The gleam in his eyes blinded. It was in 2029 detonated the old Russian gun exchanged for a piece of bread to feed the starving children. All of them died with nuclear heat.
Silence! The voices stopped. The only sound I hear is the wind howling over the stones, the ancient building ruins, heaps ravaged by time punishes them as an invisible whip. Even the demons are silent now ...
Ah! Where is the voice of the old rabbi? I wanted to hear it now. She stopped. Even there inside there is silence now, even the demons whisper more ...*
By Deepak Sankara Veda (Misha'Ël Ha'Levi) Mystik Poet
Mar 14, 2016
Mar 14, 2016 at 7:20 PM UTC
"“I hear the voices of endless angels, when my eyes behold the beauty and sensuality of your wonderful lips. Your mouth tells me the ancient esoteric wisdom of the heavenly Academy and the ascended masters speak to me”.
By Light Walker - Deepak Sankara Veda - Mystik Poet for Esoterika (Book) - The Mystic ****** Poetry
Mar 13, 2016
Mar 13, 2016 at 9:58 AM UTC
*“And there were no Angels that someday the sparks were not your thoughts, nor Angelic coaches that have not been created by your whispers, and the Comets who now behold the heavens were one night, the wonderful your kisses”.
By Light Walker - Deepak Sankara Veda - Mystik Poet for Esoterika - The Mystic ****** Poetry
Mar 13, 2016
Mar 13, 2016 at 9:53 AM UTC