You’re the white camellia
I’ve been hunting in my wildforest.

Roaming through the woods,
I’ve been seeking
that scentless purity
to fill my soul,
to revive me,
to renew me…

to forgive me.

But in your kisses,
the wanderlust
vanishes
in an instant.
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Humanity believes in Karma.
Punishment for sins
and rewards for righteousness.

Through its myriad reincarnations
the soul attains Nirvana
when the cache of Karma is drained.

And thus, I believe
my love for you is a prayer —
a surrender to the Almighty
with a plea
that in this life, and in this life alone,
I am exempted
from the hardships
I am to endure, for this
sinner soul deserves not
your purity.
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What’s frozen inside me
so bad that it melts?
Comes out in tears
that I later regret,
for I shouldn’t be crying,
wasting time, now should I?
I should get up, wake up,
look the world in the eye.

What’s frozen inside me
so bad that I shiver?
At the thought of day
I just begin to quiver.
I tremble, yet I know I must try
to get up, wake up,
look the world in the eye.

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O! In your patchwork soul,
weave mine tonight.
Let a part of me
become yours tonight.
Let my cotton
simplify your struggling silk.
Let my roughness
take away that blinding shine.

O! In your patchwork soul,
do weave mine tonight.
Let my grey
soften your quelling ocean-blue.
Let my sombre
soothe your troubled hue.

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I stare down the barrel
of the gun in his eyes.
His ruthless words —
the bullet rounds.
His echoing voice,
like shell casings
clattering on the ground.

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You are the dawn
dancing on the horizon —
a light I cannot afford,
for it will blind me
as it takes my darkness away.

In this dark that I dwell
I stay espoused to the truth
that it is only your fleeting shadow
that will be mine forever.

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Your voice and its melody,
the falsetto nursed in baritone,
is a mélange of the seasons,
the skies, dusk, and dawn.

The sound to which a Sufi
whirls — reaching Fitra.
The sound to which
his soul is in union with Ṣafā.

An embrace of the purity,
deific and divine,
your voice is the poetry
of the prayers they recite.

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In the last that I breathe,
I will not perish,
for my very spirit
is my love for you,
which upon my end,
will be immortalised;
manifested in your own being,
where it does belong.

As I wither, my breath,
in harmony with your heartbeat,
will evanesce into yours.

The irony is my love for you
that makes so little of me
so my fading is its eternalisation,
as it finds sanctum in you.

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She waltzes into the air,
dancing deftly with the moonlight.
She kills with her allure.
She’s a magical illusion.
A mystical delusion.
A breathtaking beast,
dressed as a ballerina.

She pirouettes ¹ —
it’s the split second of life.
She walks towards you, relevée ²,
her arms the arch of Heaven.
She pauses in an arabesque ³;
the balance between life or death.
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The new year dawns
and the sun shines again,
The sky is warm
and Heaven smiles again,
A change in time –
it’s a magical new present,
A moment to cherish
and walk life’s miles again.

I wish all of you a splendid 2018!

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Celui que vous aimez est parti.
La blessure a déchiré votre coeur;
et tandis que la cicatrice semble pâle,
la douleur saisit encore votre âme.

Mon amour sent votre amour,
donc il sait que ce n’est pas pour moi.
Vous pensez que cet amour est pour moi,
je sais que ça ne peut pas être.

Vous êtes ma raison d’être.
Ce coeur ne veut pas d’autre.
Et pour vous, à chaque haleine,
mon amour va renaître.
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Amidst the clouds, the stars sparkle,
as if hiding a secret.

Afront the stars the clouds stay,
as if guarding the secret.

It is this mystery of the skies
that keeps me up at night,

And the dazzle of it all
that keeps me looking for the light.
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Tomorrow you shall see
the barren Heavens
shimmering with stars;
the dark of the night
ousted by a nascent moonlight.

For tonight,
this empty expanse of ebony
is inspired by you;
it has looked into your eyes
and said that it wants to
sparkle the way they do.

It has watched
your smile illuminate the world,
and cannot live with the shame
of not being the same.

But the night after
shall be dull again,
for the stars will renege
and the moon will concede —
accepting defeat.

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Eyes that are sharp and bright,
like his mind.

Big, clear… pure,
like his soul.

Eyes that are black.
An ensorcelling, sparkling black —
an onyx.

An onyx on a moonless night,
graced by but a few stars,
catches even the faint light
and shines.

An onyx that glistens
even on a dark night;
in the absence of light.
Gleaming – distinct in the dark.
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