Can you hear the whimpering spasm of a flower,
While you pluck and detach it from its stalk?
Or is it a gladdening chuckle, emanating from its throat,
For having attained its goal, in its life?
To adorn, the braids of an alluring maid?
Or the interiors of a chamber in a mansion,
Amid the chillness of its luxury; in an ornate vase.
Unless there is someone to love her
How can a maiden become a goddess?
How can the silence become music,
Unless a maestro, seeks and finds it?
How lamps can spread its radiance,
Without the silver wicks, to wipe away the darkness?
The fresco needs an unwrinkled wall
Smoothened by a craftsman, for the painter
To create his fantasy, into a picture.
Unless you sleep, embracing your sweetheart
How can you achieve a complacent fulfillment?