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?





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