My words are a fragrant jasmine-bunch
Who smile in the tresses of a wench,
And a poor man’s granary to be treasured
For his children’s future – unmeasured.

My source is the birth of truth and breath
On the shore of the faithless sea of death,
And the icebergs of unknown oceans
Which sinks the ships of guilty notions.

My thoughts are pearls and corals
At the bottom of the social morals,
And clouds of summer showers in passion
Which prompt to kill weeds before plantation.

My dreams are glow-worms on the dark leaves
Inscribe beauties with their tails on leaves,
And lotuses emerging out of the mire in glee
Hospitable ever to the roaming humble bee.

My verse is the gust of the west wind, and find
Ravaging the wounds and sores of a mind,
And endless series of episodes, into a probe,
Life dancing and weeping across this globe.