In which grove got lit the fire of spring,
A bower of flowers or garden of psyche?
This, love's bitty offering, I gifted to Thee,
Most sincerely, oh yes, wholeheartedly.
In my breast the honey had been concealed,
Like magnolia that had been fragrance-smeared.
The nectar forthcoming, upward gushing,
It goes on calling You through a vernal breeze.
I go on seeking You everywhere,
In grief and glee, in glory and ignominy.
Who knows it, that day when You'll appear,
Having packed both bloom and fruit with hope's dream.
Sarkarverse article
Audio recording
Tuesday, December 19, 2023
Not fallacy
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Nature and psyche in harmony... You could be hiding anywhere.
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