Like a Lost Lover Entering the Seclusion of God

There is no humour in me, nothing wild
At the threshold of melancholy
I love the quietness of such an answer
I am an inwardness lost to sense

An invisible aspect
Of being sentient and embodied
Lost to social customs, I watch
Human beings interact, as if I am different

There is a voice inside the green
I want the heart of spring, secret inside of a secret
I might die if I do not find awakening
My heart once had a little courage

I once toasted a vivid and playful world
Bursting with revelry as pomegranate flowers
But now I am a pawn of stolen gold, candle-lit faces
Of beloveds, taken from me by my own weakness
Greater the harvest, coming out of the wells of abandonment.