Desire - Poem by Mihaela Pirjol
We cannot aspire to that which is already dead,
And there is no solace in delusion;
We should save the present for future memories
Thus, to remember we had a life we lived.
No soul which is born alone and dies alone ever pertain
To anyone, on this mortal realm of mortals;
Nothing we are, but an evanescent breath of air;
Utopian significance of being insignificant.
How a superbus phallus in carnal pleasure dies,
That ephemeral all these earthly passions are;
Like the face of moon from dusk till dawn
When sun replace its ardour with other kind of warmth.
Why consume our breath in yearning, suspiration?
Desire's flames need oxygen, - and that will suffocate us;
The chastity of senses shall purge our spirits pure,
And rise above this Life whose claim is to endure.