Bid pleasing tales of hope and glory, Brought by pages sung by canaries flying, A sweetest word borne of bitter story, Yet one could remember its feeling, And so spell it forshook erst in part, These are the footsteps of grass, snow; Of rocks and shores. The simple heart, Who goes where, where none go near, Whose darkness sullied comes better fear, Even whilst her conscience bids her here, It is still her heart turning her gear, Simply for the knowledge, it is passion; She tests and wrests her flag on this island, Though tempered shook can no moon undo; Thunder strikes each maid lost how sessioned, It is what mud itself can make flowers stew, Though spell I name this kindred spell, As though from nothing came pun as much, How glory so pleasing of hope and tell, That keeps such ladies going hundred much! Indeed, I scorn the principled art desire, So leavened my love be picked on hearth desire, Each pluck and tear gives me more desire, If it were love, I'd say it's moreso just desire!
If my hijab is no service to you, let mine eyes: Lend an eye oh beckon forth a silly tone, Grease a sorrow so breathe a light yet asound, Sing alight a bird flew hard yet sully way, Mute the lark that casts its tone, Breathe it hard, the flaps ere conjured way; Mine art so sunken stone - 'tis magma broke, My soup is thought. Grill my words, heart dismay, Breathe a sigh and sing more the ages past, My words conjured few, bring pill on table near, Tabled near, whilst weavers and smithers hack, Could not hear words that ought be lack, But, showing you stories these are much thought, I share a wonder, the brightest pearl on smallest shell, The brightest moon on the darkest black, How soon I watch you sleep till Earth around Is my glory come till mounted steed in poles along, The snow and moon so white and cold, Give me leave my stories bridge ye come afar, Spare my life here, near to heaven I bestow thee, I am no gypsy preyed, nor a Muslim prayed I am sung of no mystery come, no sinners bought, The art I muster and thrice I thought God in thee, Then that might pole slapped itself upon my cheek Gave more proof my story ought to lay, So enter me the gates of tale, breathe the arch of hearth, These are the stories more I tell, In Earth and moon they watch, so too I watch an eye, This I bring to you, More I come this ought to be.
Rob mine eyes and replace fair jewels, Embellish each corner with finest smooth, That every curve may vex his curves on me, Then each blemish can on me my handsome mark, Nor crease the skin twice-folded by hands alone, Each fading light can erupt two more within, Then all the while I walked, your gait knew well, At whose crossroads, neither right nor left be part. When I pour one cup of the finest brewed tea, It shall succeed one craze I horn at you with tea, Then only a thumping headache then ensue, Till the night is come, this much I peruse you.
Oh, breeze that ye Nature gush me forth,
A winding darkness that shrouds around,
Soon that weeps He in his lonely state,
And he in the silence that bore him through,
Alas for not the reasons he has to justify,
Though not his darker nature that seeks,
If not the light, then yearns for darkness,
And slowly descends into the caverns here,
That madness stirring, only slightly shaken;
The barrels of the dungeons whence he lingers,
Of that peaceful state in which he lays in wait.
It is a soothing night that enjoys our company,
Notice here our bonds are those of the night,
As we hibernate for a deepening slumber,
Upon this bed beckoning forth a fresh beginning,
Yet I see in thy face that uncertainty is aroused;
He buys her diamonds and rubies whose red hardens her blood,
Is adorning her so well with all she ever yearns.
All she wants; her lover is a genie whose bottle revealed a man tremor,
And a gentleman indeed, so so handsome, Read:
I once had her in love with me. Gives me grief to write, thine to read;
Only not rich, but could only offer her poems and love.
Could only offer her a piece of paper with words written on it, so sweet,
Says she; read but never knowing the contents therein.
Only words greater than their instinct, she bleeds me that only so bled,
Can have haemophilia only my heart bleeds aeviternal,
And die from all blood lost, and invested therein to all her jewels: ruby…
Why so thy name respects, but no more human, no more…
Approaches you gently and cast aside sudden. What words offered, gone.
Tender love destined for light divine,
Tender mine for sake and bonded there;
Again once bonded, futile is the past hence,
Justly wraps in silk fingers soft and warm;
Never part once I sow the veins our hearts desire,
May blood fare none the lesser spilt, alas;
Be mine in God’s arms but never thrown among,
For lost am I in eyes thine can never whisper Him;
Theirs the poison once it was err the winds that shine,
And bless the cups of mountain brew the ease done fine,
Green the eyes hers that double the sweet;
Breathes an air just for luck mine did beat,
For flowers great the petals over veins so blue,
That sap so royal pulses at my touch, such a hue
Where the blood escapes the abyss of her domain,
Virtue of mine to dwell are none unmade,
Virtue that I shall grasp and soon keep
For mine disdain and crushes downward,
Whose greater soar did cry and weep the ways,
Gestures unknowingly to the dark but lingers,
Soon bites into the soggy sponge that I soak
Into the blood of my flesh: that flesh unwound
Beckons not for receipt in Venus my duty made,
As I am sat, but slowly see the flesh crawl;
It’s in the deception of my eyes to see so,
Gruesome as my heart weeps a great night low,
And fair in the ways of mine and slowly begins,
Gestured upon myself an unholy clown the mire,
Gazed at the endless rife but no beginnings found,
Cast myself forth the ways in which olden ways are gazed,