Creepers Of The Wild

The many moods that a woman find herself in,

Defiance becomes her the most, 

She's not afraid to take, 

The rouge from the bougainvillaea bush and rub it on her cheeks,

Pull off the stillness from the trees and cloak herself in it,

Braid the freshness of lilies in her dark, swirling hair,

The openness of grass, she dares to drape around her neck,

As it plunges deep into the valley filled with Chrysanthemums,

Around her waist she curves the creepers of the wild,

The pale light from the sky, adorns her sensuous feet,

From the carefree, fallen leaves, she takes her attitude,

Demure is her scent, trailing after her like the first flush of love,

In her eyes is the kohl made of dewdrops,

Oh, how beautiful she looks with her pointed chin outlined in the shade,

Smiling moodily at the thought of him. 

The Song of the Sufi Masroof