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“Only from the heart can you touch the sky.”       Mawlana Jalal-al-Din Rumi  

I am a garden of Monet
thriving amidst
watercolor wilderness,
mourning the death of greens.
In pursuit of peace, where lilies
are tangled in tranquility, 
I let my eyes slumber,  
allowing my thoughts to wander  
through an iridescent landscape  
of unnamed orchards,  
outlined with moon diamonds~
flickering luminous beams
upon my melancholic mind,  
that remains a nomadic sojourner,  
traveling through shifting time,
like kaleidoscopic roses,  
splattered across the milky-way.

Happiness is more than  
just an illusory noun  
engraved from electric pens,  
by passionate poets in quest of  
a chivalrous expression,  
intoxicated by ethereal imagism,  
woven when life unfolds  
a mundane cycle  
flowing with razor-sharp regrets,  
where we drown, paralyzed and lost  
within somber phrases of serenity.

Yet, I refuse to pirouette like  
a lamented leaf fleeting  
above flowerless fields.  
I am an amateur artist,  painting 
my sadness in captivating genres,  
my brush is like an 
odyssey of rainbow petals,
steered by a sleepless muse,  
selflessly guiding my blushing heart  
to sculpt sorrow with periwinkle dreams.
There I find blissfulness within  
the butterfly breeze 
of sakura sunsets,  
falling upon my breathless ink,  
longing to be traced  
in musical tenderness,  
illuminating this spiritual connection,
set aflame by embers  
of fervent devotion,  
dancing across the smooth sky of  
sanguine seas,  
where tides of infatuation  
rinse away ripples of remorse.  
For in this world of woes  
I found a lyrical line  
and turned it into an  
illustration of sensuous sonnets,  
emanating love and light  
when metaphors have no meaning.

O sage silence,  
in your unsung melodies,I found  
a haven blooming with honeysuckles.
The sun and moon synchronized  
into an amorous ambience.  
Now I rest my angst 
on pillows of endearment,  
embroidered with sweet solace.
You will be the last summer  
seeping along cinnamon 
strings of my silhouette;
the aurora warmth to 
my frosted dusk, forevermore.
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