Sunday, September 4, 2011


Hungry eyes, beseech
The moist tenderness of the night
The moonlit sky, a torture
for the distanced Beloved of the act.

Blood shot eyes, lurk here and there
Once in a while, they sting of humor
the bewilderment of a sense of wandering
while the soul rests with the Beloved in her covet.

Lips parted, souls hung low
they have miles and miles to go
Before they fall into pieces
of a thousand winter days and one summer night

The quench of the thirstless heart
cannot be imagined, but simply felt
The venegance of an everlasting trade
Fulfilled thereafter, in a Moment's grace.

And they still chant as they go,
To their early shrine of desired Abode..
"Too many miles before I sleep..
Too many nights before you weep.."