Sailing through the
midnight sky,
Sailing through the
midnight sea,
in a boat of moon.

Fishing for my dream,
so far
Fishing for my dream,
so near
My rope - a single moonbeam
and my bait- one silver star

Don't fall in love with a writer.
She can make you realize
how bare and naked your soul is,
stripped into words,
inked on pages,
read by everyone,
but only appreciated by a few.

Don't fall in love with a writer.
You'll see how she holds hurricane
and tranquility
in the same pair of eyes,
but never learned
to find beauty within herself.

Don't fall in love with a writer.
She can make you realize
how calm chaos can be.
You will see how
she has constellations
streaming down her mind
and somehow, she has created
a space for you among those
cosmic clusters,
being a part of the galaxy
she held within her.

Don't fall in love with a writer.
Because even after
everything is over,
once things did not work out
between the two of you,
she'll still write about you
and your legacy will always
live through words and pages.

And I swam against the stream;
Swept by currents and hit rocks,
But I swam against the stream.

Do not stand at my grave and weep..
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awake in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft star-shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry..
I am not there. I did not die.

The gold moth did not love him
So, gorgeous, she flew away.
But the gray moth circled the flame
       Until the break of day.
And then, with wings like a dead desire,
She fell, fire-caught, into the flame.

I am your low roar     of distant thunder,
you are my intense     flashes of lightning.

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.