Into the cold, dark heart of night descended Dawn's warm dagger
And the sky, in every direction as it was, blood-splattered was
Although a hundred thousand bubbles of sorrow welled up within the heart
Life was escaping through my lips – the reason I silent was
The Sun itself, lord of the skies, uttered not a word
But, on the lips of the breeze and the cheeks of the rose, its story was
What we endured on the path of faith, is evident on the face
Seeing my reflection in the river, I too, astounded was
A few days Sifar resided here, wrote a bit, went on his way
That is the sum and substance of his tale – he just a guest was
No comments:
Post a Comment