Your eyes are a city of sorrow, And I am a refugee within.
They outshine the moon
You shot me a glance—swift as a spear—
And I fell, though you were far and I had no wound.
Two angels sleep in your gaze, yet wake to judge my heart.
Beneath their wings flow rivers clear as polished glass,
Where currents carry the reflections of heaven to the earth,
And teach the soul to linger where time forgets to pass.
A fragrance follows you that no garden could contain;
It lingers in the soul as rain lingers on spring soil.
Dew gathers on my heart as though it were a tender leaf,
Drinking your kindness at dawn, preserving what would otherwise wither.
For wherever your gaze settles, barren ground awakens,
And even the dust begins to smell of roses.
If I am granted another life beyond this one, let me find you there;
And if there are a thousand lives to follow, let me lose myself in each of them the same way.
Let every road return me to your door, every river to your name,
Until eternity itself grows weary of counting our meetings.
6d ago
May 29, 2026 at 3:19 PM UTC
Your eyes are a city of sorrow, And I am a refugee within.
They outshine the moon
You shot me a glance—swift as a spear—
And I fell, though you were far and I had no wound.
Two angels sleep in your gaze, yet wake to judge my heart.
Beneath their wings flow rivers clear as polished glass,
Where currents carry the reflections of heaven to the earth,
And teach the soul to linger where time forgets to pass.
A fragrance follows you that no garden could contain;
It lingers in the soul as rain lingers on spring soil.
Dew gathers on my heart as though it were a tender leaf,
Drinking your kindness at dawn, preserving what would otherwise wither.
For wherever your gaze settles, barren ground awakens,
And even the dust begins to smell of roses.
If I am granted another life beyond this one, let me find you there;
And if there are a thousand lives to follow, let me lose myself in each of them the same way.
Let every road return me to your door, every river to your name,
Until eternity itself grows weary of counting our meetings.
