My Opera
The flower
Saturday, November 20, 2010 3:56:21 PM
Of course I don't assume that the poetry is any match for the picture above. But it is an almost-reflection of the feeling it arouses in me. It was hard to contain, so I decided to spill some off and get levelled up.
The flower
Even pure music might hurt
the unrestrained beauty.
Such is that solid aura that
even poetry would die ashamed
at her serene feet.
The hidden bells knoll to remind
how the finger curled up high,
a swan stretching his wings
to disclose desire.
How her moist mouth opened up
full at the dazed sun,
opened wider under his shivering gaze,
soft, curious. Only blossoming,
only growing, only waiting.
No withering wind could reach her
across this timeless window.
~~~
20.11..10
Dhaka[/COLOR]
