A drop of beauty spot
a black mole
or a cool shady sketch
on the golden brow
of a sunny day.
The evening is always
welcome at the end.

The night from off site
pops on her way
however pitch dark
weaving even more black
across that kohl-pollen
embroidery
a sky full of stars
will keep an open eye!

I do narrate a colored craft,
Like your embroidery,
Unlike a left unfinished draft,
To continue my sad story.

I'll give a letter meant for you,
Who's woven with a thread,
Without a touch but scent for you,
While still, will you then read?

White gauzy smoke is blown through the lily,
Floating on air,
Fondling leaves and dewdrops who're glittery,
A view so rare.

On a picture elegance is enjoyed,
A Polaroid,
Presented in a silver-gallery,
Who's gloomy ne'er.

With gauzy threads from a silky cocoon,
White as the moon,
Lily-hands craft blooming embroidery,
With flowers there.

Like gossamers this elegance's tender,
Lit and slender,
Shining at the afternoon silvery,
Which does not flare.

O Mâhî, this form is a web of rhymes,
Who slowly chimes,
With threads we're finally stitching poetry,
Crafted with care.

When love hits two people
It's far beyond their capacity
It's not a choice.
Like God, bored in his kingdom,
Ordered the angels
To stitch them together
As one piece of fabric
Through thick and thin.

Then the Devil, jealous of such union,
Does his best to set them apart again.
He tries loosening the threads,
Uses scissors to rip them.
He even makes little unnoticeable holes
Just to damage the cloth.

But they must be smart
They must see through his villain attempts
At spoiling the embroidery of love
God sewed on the cloth of their heart.
They must resist.

Sometimes they do
Sometimes they don't.


F.Z.**N