The word, the same word you often whisper,
Takes me where sweet dreams murmur,
Analyzed all in the heart, I eagerly listen,
And thoughts of pleasant days never lessen,
And pulses of warm sighs in mind glisten,
Swifter than passionate stormy guesses,
Haunted by the joy the heart never misses,
I think of you, my tender heart and mind,
My love and friend and best my soul can find.
I have, at a gentle time, your beauty received,
Brave and charmed, my soul adored you,
In every temper following your fragrance clue,
To each born hour, wherever I can view
Your beauty aging, passing years on bare feet,
No other sight can ever have more delightful beat,
In my chest, throbs of kindled sensation on fire,
Unchanging ardor mingles with your own desire.

Once upon our love, do you remember?
How your beauty startled from seraphic calm,
When I caught sight of years on your soft wrinkled palm,
Which enfolded the betrayal of the careless time,
And we were ashamed to show our suffused temper,
While our eyes patiently contended with time's innocent harm.

Do you still ponder about my valor and rosy promises?
Of baskets of flowers of jealous daffodils and irises,
Of a palace of our iris of love's gracious glances,
Of paths of iridescent delight to our passion's wilderness,
Of a world of stars and sun beams for your dresses,
And stories for our grandsons adorned with before sleep kisses.

Do you remember, ah, our mingled tears?
Our failure to laugh, to count bleak years,
Our persistent endeavors to survive hopefully in vain:
Love is not ours, I wish we were spared of this searing pain,
Might what time have disclosed be folded again,
Might what we have lived be faded in wane.

I live for you, a feeble flame,
You live for me, a yellow dim light;
I flare dancing on a wax thread,
While you travel straight ahead;
A free light around my warm flame,
As far as the darkness boundaries allow,
As we were decades before, we are now;
I melt and carelessly burn my years,
And trickle down with my hot tears,
Waiting for you to illuminate my world,
Which is dark, which is bitterly cold
To be immersed with our quiet love scene,
Which can be noticed, which can be seen,
But when dawn breaks bright.
And my flame is blown out;
The life we have lived so tight
Becomes a candle's illusion by name,
And a fancy of desire, which has right.

You and me ourselves both are here,
A man and a woman growing together,
I mean not hand in hand nor sufficiently near,
Nor in a hurry, seeking perfumes of the earth,
Nor surrendered to consume our freedom at birth,
But, in a manner, here absolutely we may stay,
Spending waves of breath in a meaningful way,
Going elsewhere shall mean we appear there,
We may inhale happiness and rough among care,
Without the directions, we suggested to each other,
You are trusty and me, an ancient term lover,
Man and woman satisfied by their own delight,
In our usual performances at a slow night,
Keeping perfect company without much argument,
What you promised and I did too show commitment,
Honest to each as long we don’t go to a crowded place,
Where every morning with clothes, we wear an odd face,
Where ritual love and our humanity are threatened,
Nor decide to cross the angry brown river to the bay,
Where we are, by the noise of defeated waves, deafened,
Where the smell of salty sea corrupts your scent,
And your love whisper becomes no more than a lament.

Love! Love! Great love’s incidence,
Plotted by one’s own fate coincidence,
Without roots of peerless confidence,
Sprouts buds that soothe wary hearts
The life of the sweetest song starts,
That delicious becomes the whisper,
Glances, silent lips and warm murmur,
The smiles, and every sudden gesture,
This time, that place in fall and winter,
Past, present and uncertain future,
All what love allows them to say,
Though between trust and doubt sway,
They believe promises their own way,
They are what they are, and remain,
Waiting in colors of passion to gain,
Their right of divine sweetness and pain
From the very time of unknown existence.

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 wildland, she fell and fell and never rose,
For him, he regretted eating the roses, petals and soul.

Hatred, for those who seek for reason,
Is a fertile ground to exonerate treason.
And enmity breeds in blind terrorism  
In seasons of adorable ignorance of heroism,  
And shallow knowledge is marked by arrogance
Pleased to exude its own furious fragrance,  
Sheathed in cloaks of words of slick elegance,
And intrigue perfumes conspiracy with innocence,
Which serves man's aberration in a dull perception,
Where sublime paths are righteous deception,
And antipathy lapidates resurrection of truth,
And affliction is doomed shelter for ruth,
For broken hearts, the haunted and guests,
And lovers and tragic faces and ***** *******,
And the aged wisdom and the unseen future,
And we, the abandoned in particular.