Adverse time may cause a distance
But what connects
if becomes cold, waveless,
Even if it is called Love
That too dies.
For waves those awakened in thoughts,
Only a poet can catch their end,
The wind will decide which way to go
And words will turn seagulls' wings.
As they fly...
With mild tides of a calm ocean in chest
The index finger touches the lips of a beloved
Or a storm rises by the slightest gesture,
Turns our thoughts wild,
Brings flood in body plateau.
Smokes spiral up in mountains and valleys
Forming drops of sweat,
That in festivities of desire
Blossom like a flower.
Again for a broken tie
In a moment of sadness
When dark clouds envelope the sky
Its downpour of August rain
Finds the pen.
Poetry holds our love
It's men, who dig the grave.
