I stand here,
Waiting for you;
The poison tree
Has grown within me,
Numbing me of my
Own emotions, the red
Snow of pomegranates
Roll down the river of
My blood. The boats
At the sea, wait
For the lighthouse to
Spread its streaks of light
On the sea, which is the
Colour of black oil, so that
They course through their
Respective paths unafraid.

Somewhere, in the deep
Ocean of my soul,
Lies an open book
That bears the heaviness
Of my letters and words,
Like the porters bearing luggages
At a railway station. Fishes and
Sharks torment me,
Bringing me back those
Verses that I wrote
In my long wait for
You, and lost it as
I decided and knew,