Oh, Lily
How beautifully you lie there,
In the curly waves of the river
Golden beams gently touch your skin
As a way to wake the sleeping saint
A trumpet of petals calls me from afar;
It is the only thing that I hear
Blaring in a quiet hearth
Where a name without vowels is engraved
I wander, unaware of its gentle retreat.
I watch it dance
Six needles holding the stamen
Like a surfboard rocked by the sea's unrest
One more whirl of the winds,
Then it would fall on the carpel's feet.
I sojourn in this garden once;
You might never see me or I might never see you
Let Zeus lurk for Hera's liquid at last
'Till it splashes, stained, and bloom
In every season of my mind.
Mar 28, 2025
Mar 28, 2025 at 12:03 AM UTC
Oh, Lily
How beautifully you lie there,
In the curly waves of the river
Golden beams gently touch your skin
As a way to wake the sleeping saint
A trumpet of petals calls me from afar;
It is the only thing that I hear
Blaring in a quiet hearth
Where a name without vowels is engraved
I wander, unaware of its gentle retreat.
I watch it dance
Six needles holding the stamen
Like a surfboard rocked by the sea's unrest
One more whirl of the winds,
Then it would fall on the carpel's feet.
I sojourn in this garden once;
You might never see me or I might never see you
Let Zeus lurk for Hera's liquid at last
'Till it splashes, stained, and bloom
In every season of my mind.
