As I speak highly of my mistress,
They question my reservation to address
Her as my love, or any mentionof the same word
which illustrates many, even notwithstanding
it appears meaningless once said.
That is since such a brief phrase shall not deliver
my inward passion to whom I must not fail.
For her secretive smile is worthy
My poetic sense, not just all, but twice.
In fact no Shakespearian word of love
Would describe my staring love in her sky;
Nor the philosophy of he, great Socrates, finds
A way to revolve and acceptable deny.
Meanwhile, the assembled spears of thou inspiring
Alexander falls short before her merciful eyes.
And I, whose words have turned him down,
Experienced loss in my sea of words-
When I wished I never lived but drowned;
As life revealed no tracks of her fleeing path.
Back then, my beloved’s name was sculpted on my heart-
May I never forget nor turn down once again.

*

Thy soul, reason once in a while when mother shakes
My consciousness from dreams, if I will, just yet,
Conclude my description of whom I redeem?
And I shall not.
For I love her with the knowledge that such a phrase
Losses its attraction when muttered within me
And dissolves its true mean among angelic looks.