I am very passionate about the object of my heart's affection
I try to get the message over that I am enamoured of your flame
But often I get slapped down for going my passion's direction
For having loved I have nevertheless been made ashamed
Thinking, ruminating on the ******* form of Beauty
At least that's how you have always appeared to me
You and your sermon are my spirit's entreaty
That beseeches, implores my mind mesmerisingly
The perfect opportunity of Love I often destroy
For ignorance of how to give perfect care
In my moods I fall and fall, like Troy
Attesting to my spirit's shame and the poverty there
    But still I'd love to love and love again
    With one who can teach me how to make amends

I buckle to my slender side
  The pistol and the scimitar,
And in my maiden flower and pride
  Am come to share the tasks of war.
And yonder stands my fiery steed,
  That paws the ground and neighs to go,
My charger of the Arab breed,--
  I took him from the routed foe.

My mirror is the mountain spring,
  At which I dress my ruffled hair;
My dimmed and dusty arms I bring,
  And wash away the blood-stain there.
Why should I guard from wind and sun
  This cheek, whose ****** rose is fled?
It was for one--oh, only one--
  I kept its bloom, and he is dead.

But they who slew him--unaware
  Of coward murderers lurking nigh--
And left him to the fowls of air,
  Are yet alive--and they must die.
They slew him--and my ****** years
  Are vowed to Greece and vengeance now,
And many an Othman dame, in tears,
  Shall rue the Grecian maiden's vow.

I touched the lute in better days,
  I led in dance the joyous band;
Ah! they may move to mirthful lays
  Whose hands can touch a lover's hand.
The march of hosts that haste to meet
  Seems gayer than the dance to me;
The lute's sweet tones are not so sweet
  As the fierce shout of victory.

We are walking together,
Fingers tangled between our palms,
And eyes fixated at every masterpiece.
For in this museum,
I am looking at different masterpiece.
Stories written behind every strokes,
Every color combination,
Lines and shapes.
A beauty painted in a canvass.
But I haven't found any picture,
Word, or illustration,
That will show true beauty,
One that will illuminate
A beautiful heart
And alluring soul.
Then I realized
Nothing can compare
To the masterpiece
That I found in you.
For you are greater than any masterpiece
Because you know how
to touch and talk
to my soul and heart.

Winter Solstice – The Year’s Compline

The winter solstice is the year withdrawing
From all the busy-ness of being-ness,
And life in all its transfigurations
Seems lost beyond this cold, mist-haunted world

Time almost stops. Low-orbiting, the sun
Drifts dimly, drably through Orion’s realm
Morning becomes deep dusk; there is no noon
Four candles are the guardians of failing light

Until that Night when they too disappear
Beneath a Star, before a greater Light

I drowned in the history of China,
In text and torn genes,
Immersed in yellow rivers and red books
and sought refuge in Kowloon,
Practiced medicine within the wall,
All to find you.
To have a hand grace your shoulder
On a pavement in England,
And tell you where you’re from,
And that it doesn’t matter

Lonely, like the ancient ocean
flooding fast upon the sand

past a fading line of footprints,
ankle deep in surf she stands

casting wishes on the water
like a sprinkling of snow,

light they land but moments after,
melt into the waves, and go..

I have a lot of love for the broken, the tattered and torn; those who carry the burdens of a human heart.