The Curtain

The way the curtain is drawn

upon the window,

like on fire is the heart

And smiled she with hoary age

Upon drawing the curtain,

her eyes seek me

and then the glimpse is gone

 

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The Pilgrimage

In the wakefulness of heart

And in a pilgrimage of still air

I Knocked and knocked on your door

And went on ruining the evening in disgrace

There were meetings between us

The flow that is in a sudden meeting

And in a sudden prayer

Has made me a saint of your door

And in making the time flourish

Here by I go away 

Knocking after knocking on your door

 

in desert

Like the changing monsoon,

You know how to rain but my hut is in the desert,

Upon which are two seats to talk to the stars,

And two to look in your eyes

 

I hope I return alive from this desert,

Only your desire is like a book of pastime,

Let me read two words,

like my stare on your face