How often you see me in the street!
Stately words, we always meet;
I know not where you go in a hurry,
Sometimes sad, glad, serious
or desperate as the rest,
mostly you look cheerful and curious,
with same dresses and simple bag you carry,
you glance at me, perfectly the least,
but I stare at your beauty as you pass,
It is a little time until you vanish among the crowd,
I keep looking in search for you,
But you become a gentle scent in the mass,
And I burry a sigh which worth to be loud.
O, time as it is, I will wait another future,
When we can decide better possible right,
When we can ignore selfish pride of mortal nature,
And be faithful to lovely chance of ever delight,
When you hold me by the hand in the street,
And receive my attention, pacified when we meet.

Love lights the truth of a hopeful perhaps
To a despaired old dream guides all laps,
And mind descends to a heart drawing elate maps,
And at ease irritated fingers rest upon laps.
Women know the use of coolness, hideous trap,
In shadow of an angel sleepless lover,
In teeth of arguing tempest with silence cover,
Preparing unsightly spell  in red flower,
Which, of course, to be mentioned, is the best manner,
For a romance, nothing utters more charmer,
To be praised with a kiss or obvious never,
So love predicts paradise of a sacrificed perhaps,
Thus blazed hearts, whatsoever, please their master

MY thoughts  undulate like not seas,
In depth sway lovely images at ease,
They come with shallow fancies without end,
And swing with shadows slowly increase,
Love crumbles under my lofty bed,
While foam of sin floats in my head,
Nakedness creeps up the wall without tongue,
And females ' ghosts –pretend to be young,
tapping and whispering at the door,
And in the mirror are installed even more,
And the smothered chimney breathes black hair,
While still in the stove dreamingly stare
At hot burning logs like legs,
And radiance of bright eyes lie down in fire,
Nothing can be more persistent than desire,
To tempt the soul to the world of sin,
But in my chamber reality does always win;
It seems I fancy ripe beauty in my misery,
To celebrate blossoms of haughty victory.

She came, a naked beauty without a name,
Searching a vessel of love's fragrance,
Though vessels are-if falsified- not the same,
Love's lure sails in silence and bore
Certainly each onto a different shore,
Like the one she searched to achieve her fate,
Of a heart that was burned by lights of lies,
Breathed blowing the sails into bed of paradise,
Swiftly to the dream, photographed in her eyes,
Yet like all dreams, each had awakening tale,
Her face could tell the thoughts that were hovering,
Blooming sweats of mute repentance,
O, old songs told about this harrowing experience,
Of shining mirage of love for centuries,
Of lore's vessels without conscience,
Haunting traveler's hearts with obscure innocence,
O, I perceived her wish, yet could not translate,
But colorless hints upon the tongue were quivering,
For her trip was done, and the daring heart was late.

The moon watches from far above,
In obscured space of loneliness,
Feels whispers, cries and sighs of love,
Among all miraculous creation;
And guide hearts that dwell in brightness,
For light is the language of the soul
Of the fair, the ugly, the unsatisfied and all
Can wait no longer  in separation;
Nothing can be right more than the moon at night,
For ages and further in subtle lightness,
Unchanged moves, unhesitating high above
Forests, valleys,  primitive beings and civilized,
Odor and spirit of light's grace,
So quietly passes gently with frowning face,
Or eye of merciful fate or heaven's breast,
Feeding the fancies of desire, east and west,
So famous, yet glimmers with sad shade,
Quite always, as it is, pretends to be winking,
For lovers receiving his charm, charm of a king,
Lured easily by perfect beauty of perky maid,
So secret desire lifts light to outer space of loneliness.

He grew up lonely with his soundless shadow,
Like a star, in the middle of a far vast meadow,
A low light twinkled from his shack’s window
To tell about his sullen solemn presence,
All night, he slept, but the light remained a reference,
A deliberate language to declare his presence,
A spirit of a person in a far-off existence.
Wreathed not with the joy of a guest’s sight
Enduring his motionless future fairly light.

A roving girl saw him once, once no more,
Yet still imagined his scene every morn and night
Tempted by affection and pacified by her right,
Unexpectedly, she knocked at his ancient door,
Then left leaving a red rose on the blackened floor,
While he was in bed before the rise of an earthly sound,
‘Thank you, lover,’ cried he for the rose he found,
Then ate the petals sitting on the cold ground,
He was forever amused by their slight bitterness,
To wilt in a vase, to him, was of bitterest sadness,

Full of life, every morning, he ate an acrid flower,
On the door, he fixed a note welcoming the stranger,
whispering to himself,’ The note is much better.’
Watching all night was a desire, even more than love,
spending most of the night outdoors in cold weather,
Until the day he didn’t find his passion’s motive,
He yielded to his old life, yet so eager to live
excusing her every morning for her realistic decision after all,
He never knew what people in town did say,
About the death of a girl in pursuit of a rose,
In a wild land, she fell and fell and never rose,
For him, he regretted eating the roses, petals and soul.

In every day of my long days,
In every way of my few ways,
I ‘m supposed to figure out,
The untranslatable with no doubt
My destiny and puzzles of fate
Accumulating as they accumulate
Echoes of stares in solitude,
And joys in grieved mood,
And thoughts of my shade,
When in silence they fade,
On my feet estranged
Within my foolishness caged,
I warmly come and coldly go,
Ignorant of what I think I know,
A smile on my lips I draw,
Welcoming unfulfilled fears,
I still have, I know- not of years,
A pale face with sightless tears,
And stream of my confidence,
Despite my victorious pretence,
Fails behind my false face,
Lost among shadows of my race.