Black
lily's blood stains his eyes and hair, on his cheeks India's sun burns a
thousand ebony kisses, burnishing his trembling, half-opened lips with light
approaching passion's most intense flame.
He
entered my world, a stranger taking no part, never stealing into my house of
memory, winning the honored place among my loves, for like silk wind he but
briefly caressed my flower.
He
will go away and I won't lose any sleep over it, he will not learn to drink
regret from my sighs or kiss away those tears I never shed for him, plucking
putative roses from my passionate cheeks.
He
will not be numbered among my heart's cares I won't waste my days in aimless
hours on account of him or squeeze my heart to give it rest, mad to wrap him
tight in the sweetness of oblivion.
He
will go away and not mar the still life I've chosen, sleeping secrets in my eyes
will not wake to madness, he cannot further terrorize a heart already quelled by
grief. Shudan came and went, we never spoke a word.
Was
it all for nothing he passed this way and by beauty lit a beauty within that
troubles me still, easing love's deathless need for an instant so that I desire
to hurl myself at all that's pure and perfect in the world?
Was
it all for nothing Shudan stopped before my temple gate and heard the psalm I
raise within, honoring his passing. He made me laugh for joy while I burned
incense to his name, without offering in return one taste of nectar from my
lips?
All
in all it is good while we search for the unknown and fall, gambling with
perilous joys that rend body and soul, lusting for the touch of hands that
inflame, weary flesh, to win from life a brief and timeless truce that cheats
the grave.
It
was good he paused before me, this sudden storm of light stirring dead hope,
clear spark of beauty uncut by pain. These times give meaning to my life and
make me whole: my cup has many cracks yet the wine always kissed the brim.