Beside me, in this unforgiving November’s winter, is she…
My queen beside me, amidst this rotting debris gifted to me.
Daphne, the comforter sent from the highest skies of Elysia
And Daphne, my love, you put a stopper… on my withering
Never did the sounding of a name, here, blossom a magnolia
Daphne, yours made my hell, the eternal orchards of Elysia.

We were betrothed to each other in here, in this wasteland
I await; you at our wedding, in your wedding gown, oh…
‘Tis her, the beau sky wrapped around your gentle frame
In your adornments, gifted from the agents of light, oh…
They are sapphire stars plucked from that midnight blue
On the edge of the Aegean sea, we await, in this wasteland

I await; you at our wedding, in your veil and crown, oh…
‘Tis her, the clouds and her raindrops, adorning your face  
I await our wedding waltz, in our deserted fields, oh…
Without our kin, persecuted and orphaned by the world
Alone we shall dance, on the edge of Ymos, our dwelling
Alone we shall be in our vows when our eyes rain in joy

I await your grand advent, beaming gleefully, towards me
Bringing me, serenity; being my succour, with your smile
I await your silhouette, irradiating the wide evening blue
Bringing me, release; being my soother, now I live anew
Daphne, your midnight blue eyes, your voice of mead…
My pen fervently gallops for words, as I just gaze in awe  

Let the sands of time tick away in joy, ticking, grain by grain
The heavens merry till the penultimate hours of our union
Now, in these salty Aegean waters, I taste honey and wine
I await our pristine union; as your hand knots with mine.
Beside me, in this unforgiving November’s winter, is you…
Daphne…

O Divine Matchmaker, pay heed to my plea.
I guard an egress open ajar, crusted by thorns
I guard this world against the odium behind it
I guard this door, not in service, Matchmaker.
My hands, grip on the barbs of this doorway
To keep it ajar, for a glimpse of my remittal;
Of the extant light of my sole soul so brittle,
Anneliese, Blessed with a name so celestial,
Anneliese, Cursed with a burden so menial,
Placidly fostering the lives behind that door.
Anneliese, my only mud-soaked nightingale.
O Divine Matchmaker, answer my quandary.
Am I to serve this world as an eternal Atlas?
Am I to forsake my mud-soaked nightingale?
Is our union ignoble to you, O Matchmaker?
How many unanswered sunsets remain alas?
In distraught, a thousand misereres, I penned
In every breath, I pine to pen a thousand more.
If only I had a drop of ink left…
If only I had a drop of ink left…

Proud we stand, loftily in our ivory towers
Proud we stand, bawling our boasts and feats
Proud we stand, on the cold concrete we built
In shame, I hung my head, fathoming our “powers”
In grief, my quill broke his heart descrying our plight.
Humanity bleeds as his ink flows in protean woe

Love has lost its world, We estranged her away
And the world lost its Love, We chased disarray
All the colours in this world have run eerily cold
Our eyes fixated on a global monochrome gold
To bundles of printed paper, our soul… we sold.
Humanity bleeds as his ink flows in protean woe

Our vermilion blood has thinned, thinner than wine
Onto our gashes, we had to dowse the thickest brine
Blinded by rage, we parried the balsam to our souls
Yet in an unhesitant grace, traces remain in our bowls
Yet... Our calamitous claws yearn to rinse it off us
Humanity bleeds as his ink flows in protean woe

For an endless pursuit, in an unquenchable thirst,
We ****** our heels onto them who cleansed them
The hands which held us taut. we mangled them.
All for an empty crusade seeking the same black
We went rabid, scouring for an immortal fountain
The answer was a drop of Love, now unobtainium.  

Yet I anticipate in the warmth of a spring someday
A few dewdrops and a little fountain emerging…
Fountain so bountiful in Love, her arrival in glory.
That day, my quill shall be healed and his ink resting

For God So Loved the World
that He gave his one and only begotten son
For God so loved the World
that He saw our sins and didn’t call it “done”
For God so loved the world
that He sent a lamb to be grown for slaughter
For God so loved the world
and we chose to hate us… harder and harder

The Heaven rejoices, the night’s stars delight
The night runs gleefully in a bright satin light
The people around me, scurry with the customs.
The people around me, quaff honey and merry
The people around me, buried in delicatessens
The world reminiscing in carols with cake ‘n wine
But remember Christmas, not for its colour and pop
‘Tis the dawn of our deliverance by Love from atop

For God So Loved the World
that He gave his one and only begotten son
For God so loved the World,
that He paid a price in blood for us, bloodhounds
For God so loved the World,
and we chose to gracelessly trample our brothers
For God so loved the World.
and we chose to hate our kin, harder and harder.
Harder and harder.

This insipid night, Time has thieved you from me
As angels and demons cry on the other’s shoulders
The Gates of Heaven open wide for you
The halls of hell accompany my misery
But one day… he shall return me to you
At the crack of dawn, my world will bloom colours
And on that dawning, I will see

When I gathered timber to set your pyre
When I bore you with my numbed sinew
When I laid you, gently, upon your bed
When, as you lay, I set ablaze your bed
I cast my heart into the consuming fire

Behind the roofs of my eyes,
Seething tears shrivel to hail

The scent of the carnations I braided to your hair
The allurement in the purple stretch of your lips
The nap of the face I once held in my palms
I gather shards of me as it all burns into the air
Like your ashes, I hold myself in a clenched fist
Like pounce, I am seeping away through its crevices

The fire I lit, he rages, swallowing my soul
To your ethereal suite, he ushers you, my paeony
The fire I lit, carries the ashes of my soul
To the one who received me
To you…

The air’s now a smothering dense smoke
I hold a smouldering purse… your ashes
  With my hollow soul, in my fumbling palms.
Cyra, writhing to hold you… I am broken.

This insipid night, her stars united to chain me
Her chain numbs my soul into the night’s blue
And every night after, that chain grew denser
Tallying every moment, I bide, for my sun to rise
That transfigured sun will melt her chains off me
And his sky will wrap me away from his rays.

Rest now, ‘Twas a long way from home
Until our sun ascends,
Goodbye, Cyra…

Long and Long I waited, endlessly, for you
Far and Far I ventured, maddingly, for you
To the deepest depths of Styx, I ****** myself for you
To the paramount peaks of Blue, I ascended high for you
O, my soul! Your radiance bewilders me

I sought for you among the trees
Dressed in majestic silky fleece
I sought for you among the insects
Adorned with ornamental trinkets

I sought for you among the beasts
With your lips purer than priests
I sought for you among the runes
Hair fragranced by jovial Junes

I sought for you among the humans,
For You, I searched the frigid south,
For You, I searched the turbulent north
For You, I searched the scornful west.
For You, I searched the pitiful east

But with mournful tears,
I found you saddened
I found you wounded
I found you chained
I found you condemned
I found you abandoned

(Your torn fleece
Your broken ornaments
Your scarred lips
Your tousled hair
Your teary eyes
Sears my heart)

Yet your presence soothes your oppressors?
Yet your heart trusts their successors?
O heinous concubines of pride
Why do you strangle my bride?
Why persecute my bride?

O Lethe, take me to your abode.
My quill awaits your warm fingertips
O Lethe, flow me into your hands
Take me to your black, to find me, rest.

Ah… At last, my mind is in peace, not pieces
As my quivering lips press against your hand
As my throbbing head rests on your plush lap
As my heavy eyes shut from the aeons of weary

Your home of brimstones is my Paradise
But where is your face, Lethe?
My fingers ran through your streams of black
But where is your face, Lethe?
My lips pressed against your gloves of black
But where is your face, Lethe?
My eyes glared at your fiery pupils of black
But where is your face, Lethe?

Ah… where is your face, Lethe?
Even the waters can’t show me your face, Lethe.
Ah... where is your face, Lethe?
My bones felt your whispering… tender… voice.
But Heavens, where is my Lethe’s face?

Don’t veil your countenance, Lethe
I know, it is scarred and marred
I know. it is not… my Daphne’s
I know, it is not of million colours
But ‘Tis the brightest of all – Black...

Lethe, shew me your face, I implore you
Shew me your face gilded with strands of regalia
Before the agents of dawn sever me off you
Before the angels of the sun char off my joy

Heavens, let me be, in these waters of – Black...

My heart writhes of pain, in the chilling fire
The fire for which she gathered, tinder
My quill and his ink froze, in the chilling fire
The fire which she gathered for my pyre.
My vellum sits bone-dry, in the chilling fire
Her fire, which burns my voices to cinder

Every fortnight, I see her glistening eyes
Reciting a monotonous sonnet of grey
That sonnet would never ever suffice
In sheathing me from her stagnant voice
As she smothers my final embers of life
As she “graces” me staleness from life’s fray

Her brushed hair, smooth in bronze.
Her florid face, baroque and supple.
Her lips, curled to a fluttering smile
Her gait, silent, steady and subtle
Her eyes, icy daggers skewering my heart
Her fingertips, flames freezing my breathe

I await in void as her hand rests on mine
Glaring the gloaming sky with heavy eyes
She drained my soul into a dead mine.
But... she birthed my precious Daphne
A shallow stream began from my dry eyes
“I miss our waltz, I always did, Ania.”

The ink on my quill began its flows
My heart repose, as my Ania mellows.
But sorrow, clutch me, she was my Ania
I shall see her very soon, in our meadows
We will have our Final Waltz, Ania
Yes, Ania; Our joyous waltz to Follia.

The ravaging beasts of the folds of south
Once marred, Yaakov, the man out of them.
For his kinnor sang a thousand vibrant sonnets
And the muttering arachnids of the north
Once defied, Ingrid, the woman out of them.
For her visage was a thousand radiant sunsets

In the midst of the luscious green grasslands
Was their bleak prison of grey, still and stale
In that chasm, she was shrouded from the light
In that chasm, he was girdled taut by that light

Amidst their floundering souls, was an iron veil
‘Twas a bleak wall, seeking his absolution from them
I saw him ‘n her, in dreary and stale, weary and pale
But I felt their hands caressing me, the iron veil

Those ravaging beasts, brutishly, gnawed his fingers off him
In envy, those arachnids ravished her joy and youth from her.
The blood-red moon, wept rivers of lamentations, for him
In shame, the blue sun hid himself in light, far... away from her
Thirsting for his marrow, those beasts, foully, scourged him
In vain, those arachnids gnashed their sickening fangs over her
I stood there, as a frigid shoulder to rest on for them
In pain, I urged the skies, “Strike me down!” for them

As Ingrid searched for him, she held on to me
As Yaakov stumbled for her, he leaned on me
In silence, I heard their hearts pacifying the other
In shame, I saw their voice bleeding for the other
In sorrow, I saw their scars salving together
I saw the locks of her hair, yearning his kiss
I saw his weary spirits yearning her warmth
I saw their cinders yearning to become one.

Despite, me, the unfortunate accursed iron veil
I saw her palms drying Yaakov’s tears away
I saw his arms caressing Ingrid’s fears away
Despite, me, the unfortunate accursed iron veil
I saw the brightest light in their teary smile
I saw my prison, be the Eden for their love

The austere bricks in me have finally seen a crack
I see Yaakov’s Ingrid and Ingrid’s Yaakov beside me
Never had the air smelt sweeter in this grassy sea
I now see a waltz after four scores of… lamenting
I now see a solace from the pounding pulse in me
But for my absolution, I pray “Strike me down!”

Strike me down, O agents of the heavens above
Flood me down, O seas of this broken paradise.
Tear me asunder, O lamenting winds of the sky
Have you, all-righteous hosts gone to slumber?
Why do you hide yourself, the all-righteous sun,
When the filth rejoices, the paradise cries pain?
Ah, Daphne, do you see this unsettling… silence?
Despite my cries to unbind us from our torment?

Behind her wrinkled, pale, cold face was that radiant sun
Behind his tremoring strained voice was that sonnet sung
Unchain my heart and free us I implore you, righteous fires.
Unchain their love, even the distant stars heard their sorrow
Let there never be another harrowing and writhing adagio
Let there never be another Yaakov and Ingrid in torment
Let there never be arachnids, muttering in viscous vanity
Let there never be beasts, lusting their blood and marrow
Set me free, let me return to my eternal slumber in solace
Set us free, Strike me down for their love… my absolution

Golda, do you remember the broken bridge of oak?
Lying o’er the river of the east; the broken bridge of oak
Golda, do you remember that Autumn sunset of red?
That sunset, I rested on that cold bed of ambers and red.
The sun was the brightest red of all light
The river kept flowing its gracious paths

From here, I saw your strands of red, fluttering with this zephyr; there
From here, I saw your nimble feet tapping grace, onto my heart; there
From here, I saw your vivid smile widening mine as this azure sky; there

As my cornet, that night, breathes the song of a thousand nights.
Your feet, that night, taps to my heart, a joy of a thousand sights.
As I dipped my feet onto this great river of the east,
I heard your feet lapping this great river of the east
As our feet were lapping this great river of the east.
I felt your fingers on my heart and… mine on yours.

This blue day, forty-five autumns and rains have come and gone by
From here, I see your strands of red, hidden in an ebony box; there
From here, I see your nimble feet, hidden in an ebony box; there
From here, I see your vivid smile, hidden in an ebony box; there
Golda, As you lay peacefully in that ebony box, alone, in that bed,
I shall lay like you lay, calm, on this hot stove of ambers and red
Till I meet you on the other side of our – broken bridge of oak.