Why should we gaze at the lines,
On the hands that reach to hug?
I love the bosom's fineries of love
That comfort me.
The look of the love-showering eyes,
My angst.
The beauty of the eyes that behold,
Another domain
I do not need its perceptions,
Nor its beauty.
Honeys do drip in words:
I do not need that
Words that do slip out of tongue
Do not provide bread
For my ill temper.
I search for love
In all lips.
More than the beauty of lips
Who needs the clinical decorum
Who needs the clinical decorum
of the dentals?
When I look into my soul,
I can see all these,
My belief's my breath.
I cherish the sigh of
The mind that comes searching for me;
Not the beauty of the nose tip.
I do not seek the beauty of
The hands that embrace me.
I remember the rare love and the silent touch of the hands.
I will plant myself in the
Overflowing love of the heart
Rather than in its hardness.
Neither the decor of the feet
Nor its shape
would decide my cousrse.
The trust, on the solid earth
like unending will power
crawls into my thoughts
Like a serpent,
My feet do follow
That serpent's journey
Endlessly
