I melted moon-white pearls into a gleam,
sewed a meadow’s wild-flowers in a dream,
And created a woman, with blood divine,
A woman strong, more intoxicating than wine.
Through dew, the spark of life arrowed in,
Giving birth to the wildwood odored skin.
Delphinium vivid petals of a spring late,
Were the eyelids carrying my despair’s weight.
Out of desperation, I draw lust with scripts,
With flagrant red roses; colouring her lips,
The droopy distorted lips, whose kiss mourns,
An existence where it is with me, not thornes.
With the gloom of the straying fool; Eslam,
I wrought the hair of her drenched in psalm,
Enchanting with dark godly melodies of her,
Braiding light with sorrows that, there, were.
Rob, I did, the breeze from the voided air,
To embroider something, while reciting a prayer,
And dizzily, I fabricated a soul for the mud,
And O! ******* lively rumbled; the once-were bud.
She inhaled, in awe, life and my old despair,
And with the first breath, an end she did declare,
It was as we both breathed for the first time -
We were two words in a poem, ready to rhyme.
Her light, reflected on my broken pieces,
The rayes, shaped a tree of wicked caprices,
Where my fantasies grew and bigger got,
And controlling the other self, I could not.
However, she is my little beautiful creation,
And this reality is my hunger’s innovation.
The reality we all share was not real at all,
Yet what fake is, makes my reality whole.
Leave me, until I crawl.
Eslam is my name.