May all the sonnets in the world compiled in beauty
lend themselves to your sweet eyes of gold
may every line of of penmanship speak to you of me
showing you that ardor, still untold

and when the moon comes out to serenade you darling
send me kisses from your balcony
and when the moonlight bathes the feather's of a starling
tinted dark as heaven's ebony,  

bring me all your charms and play your castanets my love
rend each doubt and join me over there
where every wingeth bird soars up like a turtle dove  
and plays you music oh so fair

may every sonnet ever written call you out by name,
may every poem ever uttered be your sweet proclaim.

The smell of your hair
Left on my hand
Colorful;
And after your soil,
I have no meaning
The long white tuberose stems...

بوی موهایت
مانده به روی دستم
...رنگی
و بعد از خاک ات
من معنا ندارم
...ساقه های سپید بلند مریم