When clouds chase my thoughts through the corridors of day,
My soul seeks its truth in the sun’s burning ray.

They murmur of realms where the veils are undone,
Where shadows are born from a brighter display.

Each drop is a flame in a robe of disguise,
That falls from the sky like a tear in delay.

I searched for still air, but the winds would not cease—
The tempest instructs in its own sovereign way.

The Self must arise where the silence is loud,
Where gold is not found but revealed through decay.

So let them pursue me, these clouds trimmed in fire,
Their chase is a summons I dare not betray.

O’ seeker, who wanders beneath the sun’s eye,
The blaze is your trial—be forged, not afraid.

To gaze upon thy radiant face — a glimpse of heaven’s lore,
The veil is drawn, the soul is torn — what lies behind that door?

Thy silence speaks in thunderous tones, a storm behind thy grace,
Each glance of thine unveils a world no mortal dared explore.

The dust that clings beneath thy feet — to me, it’s sacred ground,
I would trade the thrones of emperors to watch thy shadow soar.

The night may boast a thousand stars — they pale before thy flame,
The moon itself forgets to shine when thou dost heaven outpour.

In dreams I walk through burning winds, yet seek thee without fear,
For every wound becomes a rose when love’s the pain I bore.

O’ heart, retreat from fleeting things — thy cure is not of earth,
His smile contains the cure, the fire, the storm, the shore.

– The lover, still I carve thy name in verses none ignore,
For even Time shall bow its head where love and truth restore.

We are connected not by fate or chain,
But by the fire that runs through joy and pain.

When I dissolve, thy breath shall still remain,
Calling my name in air, in mist, in rain—

And from that breath, the world shall rise anew:
A flame from ashes, and the skies from dew.

When thy lips did kiss, I questioned not,
Nor sought for wine, nor heaven’s thought.

A tremble stirred through time’s still face,
And reason fled without a trace.

What need have I of chaliced gold,
When breath of thine makes rapture bold?

I spoke no verse — the world grew dumb,
One sigh from thee, and stars were numb.

They call me mad, by flame possessed,
Yet only ash has truly rest.

Thou kissed — and night forgot its name,
The moon turned pale, the sun grew tame.

I dwell in hush, where echoes sleep,
Half-living still, in silence deep.

A kiss — and silence found its cry,
Its voice unloosed beneath thy sky.

O’ eyes! You bore the echo of the Throne,
And gazed as if the stars were all your own.
Majestic eyes, whose silence made me whole —
You gazed, and in that gaze — you kissed my soul.

O’ dewy rose, scattered on the silken floor,
Art thou a pledge of love, or parting’s lore?
In thee resides both flame and celestial light,
Thy fall alters the soul’s eternal plight.

Each bloom by the Hand of Destiny unfurled,
Carries the rapture and the ruin of the world.

O’ if the rose were given leave to sigh,
Or if the ocean wept for beauty’s sake,
Such tears would flood the ramparts of the sky,
And bid the sleeping stars in awe awake.
Yet thou, unknowing, passest through the dawn,
A muse unbound, in mortal semblance drawn.

So let the heavens bend to kiss thy tread,
And night adorn thee with her silver thread;
For in thy gaze, this fleeting world doth see
A glimpse of what the soul was born to be.
And I, a poet lost in mortal guise,
Have glimpsed the infinite through earthly eyes.

Though time may fade the bloom from beauty’s cheek,
Its echo in thy light shall ever speak.