The petals of your jasmine lips
don a bunch of moon beams
at the secret hour of the night
when dark in the body screams
to assign colors to visible forms
silencing all inner storms:
your voice pervades soul of birds
at midnight giving the final call
before into a sleep they fall,
as the moon tries to scale heights
to accommodate our new flights;
fold me into a flower in the bower
of your braid tumbling to your lover
smell my blooming thoughts for you
before I tumble to my grave's cover.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem