The beauty of words, flowers, birds,
Trees, saplings, reservoirs, rivers, all have merged,
As if the sky has bared its heart,
Dark and blue, light and true,
Still,
Silent,
Tranquil.
The eyes lose their greed to the snowy mountains of clouds,
Pails of innocence they draw from the quickly darkening summer sky...
And as the breeze picks up,
To raise a tiny storm,
The heart is already nestled in the crook of his arm.
Trees, saplings, reservoirs, rivers, all have merged,
As if the sky has bared its heart,
Dark and blue, light and true,
Still,
Silent,
Tranquil.
The eyes lose their greed to the snowy mountains of clouds,
Pails of innocence they draw from the quickly darkening summer sky...
And as the breeze picks up,
To raise a tiny storm,
The heart is already nestled in the crook of his arm.
 |
| The Song of the Sufi Masroof |
No comments:
Post a Comment