This boundless ocean, the world, we sail,
Where roses bloom with memories frail.
O' sparks of beauty, how I ache to see,
The light of your gaze, if it turns to me.

If your eyes rise, in their celestial grace,
The heavens would tremble, shadows erase.
My tongue, soaked in melodies sweet,
Would sing of your name in waves, complete.

Your smile, a garden where angels tread,
The key to paradise, the path we’re led.
The blood of my heart, like wine of the vine,
Pours forth in longing, forever divine.

Is this the miracle of your sacred face,
Or the world’s eternal, fleeting trace?
Tell me, beloved—who’s the bloom,
Is it you or I, in this garden’s room?

What a spark, what a flame, when these eyes first saw,
The dance of light, the world without flaw?
When these hands, born of clay and dust,
Poured forth warmth, a gift, a divine trust?

When the tongue, a prisoner of silence so deep,
Broke free with a word, a promise to keep?
What sweetness filled these humble ears,
When the first sound stirred the heart’s silent fears?

When this tiny heart, so full of desire,
Met belief like a spark to an unlit fire?
When the lips of this child, kissed by the dawn,
Smiled at the world, and all sorrow was gone?

When the body, this vessel of earthly woe,
Was styled by love’s hand, a graceful glow?
What a moment, what a scene, O’ Jamil, I ask,
Could such be the work of a gene—or love’s mask?