With the flow of the mist,
The fall as if streams where would,
The hair as if hiding the moon of face.
Bring in superlatives as the night slipped,
Vanishing into the ravishing darkness where,
Hiding is the cup of lips, as old wine.
The redness was akin to the petal of a rose.
Your voluptuous eyes breathe soft air.
So where goes the repentance to adore!
How many times didst the glance so tilted.
Heart has to sing whence from the smoulder.
Nightingale neither blithe nor reed is flute.
Love still is the vibe not perishes of age.
The angel of happy omen with wings a fairy.
From the eyebrows posed is a question
Where to and not into the haze of coming times.
Speak few verses or make the words in salsa.
Or rub your hands for the flight of the wings.
Or just lie down and in freedom underneath,
The rain of bliss as it showers benefaction.
May 8,2012.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem