Jan 19
She claimed what my hand could never attain, A tattoo etched where her wrist bore the strain. Her glance, a dagger her hand might fear, So she adorned her arm with sard crystal clear.
I sought her union, but she softly denied, “Do not deceive, for love has many died. How many hearts has passion led astray, Consumed by grief, with no words left to say.”
She left me fallen, her voice a refrain: “See what the gazelle has done to the lion in pain.” To a ghostly figure passing in the night, She whispered, “Its truth neither fades nor takes flight.”
The figure replied, “I saw him left to thirst.” And you said, “Cease drinking!” His silence was the worst. Then softly, she spoke, “He is true to his core.” But her words chilled my soul to its deepest shore.
Her tears, like pearls, kissed roses with grace, And hail nipped the jujube in winter’s embrace. Even in death, envy shadows my rest— For not even dying can free me from their jest.
I sought her union, but she softly denied, “Do not deceive, for love has many died. How many hearts has passion led astray, Consumed by grief, with no words left to say.”
She left me fallen, her voice a refrain: “See what the gazelle has done to the lion in pain.” To a ghostly figure passing in the night, She whispered, “Its truth neither fades nor takes flight.”
The figure replied, “I saw him left to thirst.” And you said, “Cease drinking!” His silence was the worst. Then softly, she spoke, “He is true to his core.” But her words chilled my soul to its deepest shore.
Her tears, like pearls, kissed roses with grace, And hail nipped the jujube in winter’s embrace. Even in death, envy shadows my rest— For not even dying can free me from their jest.
