Erupting Inside my heart,
With triads of erotic notes
Fading into one,
There appeared
The reflection
Of a face,
I have been after
For all these years.
As I walked a bit closer,
It appeared to be
A mere reflection
Of a pale face of
The fallen angel from
The western sky,
On the mute, white water
Of the pond-
Sweetened with the
Sorrowful childhood,
Somewhere near the
The solitary ivory temple
Where pious hymns of
Premature birth
Are sung like
Silent mirrors of truth.