Under the sleepy starry skies,
Under the thousand drowsy eyes,
The moon standing tall and wise
Ushering in morrow, saying goodbyes,
A hundred thousand questions arise
In the deepest chamber where heart lies,
As the wandering gypsy music dies…
What is it, young heart?
What is it that you seek?
After a hard day’s labour,
Do you seek the comfort of silk covered pillows?
Or the warmth of the loving lap of a fellow’s?
After treading a path of thorns,
Do you seek the lure and shine of a terrain of gold-laden mass?
Or the coolness of a patch of green grass?
Amidst the life on earth so still,
Amidst the deep sighs that trill,
The night celebrates twinkling life at will,
Guiding the morrow, like a beacon on the hill;
In the cave where wild thoughts mill,
A hundred thousand questions more brim, until
The eyes behold the heavens beyond the window-sill…
What is it young heart?
What is it that you thirst for?
For an evening of leisure,
Do your senses thirst for the coalesence of red wine and red eyes?
Or the fragrant intoxication of red roses relating fables the young heart vies?
For a life that is fulfilled,
Would you acquire pricey pearls by millions from a falling leaf?
Or gather in palms priceless tears borne of love and grief?
While the moon intoxicates the nightly skies,
While the moon awaits the fiery sun to rise,
Standing lonely shedding her grief in dewy cries,
Longing for him, who’ll bathe an army in its orange flamy fires,
The young heart, restless and curious, questions its desires,
As the moon’s reflection shudders in fear in the lake of croaking spies
Announcing her loss, as the sun chooses regality, ceding all ties…
– SKY –