As the moon of sweet fire trails her veil
of glowing desire
along the heart of an ever hungering sky
before temporarily sinking into horizons of night,
I long for those languorous, idle hours
on lap of lilies floating to the tune of a soft murmur
that rose from core of a honey hive in your chest;
I want the bruised roses of my heart
to be caressed by the healing breeze of your breath
under the bower of the old gulmohar trees;
to watch the baffled butterflies of beauty brooding
on the blossoms of your mehendi-colored palms;
to float in the clouds of dreams
in the panoramic shades of dancing eye-lashes;
to fly into bouts of imagination
at the gait of your astral body on an illumined earth;
to consecrate this mind at the altar of ageless youth
enshrined in every aspect of Nature
that harbors sweet-sad memories of love's glorious birth.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem