fadillai dapilaa

Voice of piercing heart
Of eastern lovely call
Sound of dieing soul
Through the mist of a warful glade
...

Presently my soul lingers in limbo; not agnostic
The weary feet of me gets weary not; soon to be
No mortal seek what I seek; perhaps know what I hold
As one sits facing the glare of truth; surely true
...

Hear me speak
I have an acquaintance with the rudiments of love
It pours on me its vexation
Swinging its ugly face upon my making
...