In my passion's language
There is neither hunger
Nor a drop of death,
But a copious silvery river
Where Moon floats
And stars glitter.
Each word , gleefully, whistles the life;
Wings angels fragrantly spread,
Walking together, holding my hand.

A fiery heat transforms
All my silent and sad pains,
Repairing wounds, holding rhytms,
Inhaling life and feeding my dreams.
Bodyless hours gracefully step,
Dancing throughout the wakeful night;
I behold, in divine ecstasy,
The footprints of their unseen feet.

In its perfumed depth, beautifuly,
The night articulates the songs of soul,
Stars smile, the moon is blooming whole,
I lose myself, melting with the petals of rose
In the color s of dawn,
And my passion blooms fresh in the morning
With the flavor of rising sun.

Tags: Poetry

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