Roses are pink, and so are your lips – similar, but same, they are not.
Roses have thorns, but sleek as butter are your lips.
O' come closer, beloved! Let me vanish in the midst of your lips.
What more could a lover ask than that? What more does a lover yearn for?
Please don’t be a mere picture and stand aloof in your painted form.
Look into my eyes and feel the pulse of my forlorn life waiting to phase out its moments of solitude, one by one, as the shooting stars in the haven of your affection and care.
I will be your lover for the rest of my life, and if I could choose my own fate, I would die in your arms.
That would be an immaculate farewell. O' may these desires be ripe before I kiss the sky.