The Bed Of Heaven
By Fiza Pathan
Your faint voice makes my heart
Want to leave my breast and run.
Over the mountains,
The region of the sages sings a song.
You lie within the snow glaciers-frozen,
And my chest melts your form into my arms.
The bees hum their merry tune
While the eagle flies high over valleys and hills.
With my hands extending I cry out to you
Come dearest one of the highland, come nearer.
The pigment of the flower is my ink
And my heart is the pen with which,
I pen down sonnets in your memory.
How can I fathom how much I love you
Even after the waterfalls,
Have drowned my voice in the woods?
With your dreams in my mind I slept
And with your memory I awoke
To remember the hawks cry to the heavens.
I roam as lonely as a renouncer of material possessions,
Without any aim or goal in sight.
I extend my hand out to touch you
In the breeze smelling of pines and oak
But I do not find you in the winds embrace.
Lay down with me in the afternoon’s lazy slumber
Near the hills of the monks,
And let’s kill time with aimless talk.
Let the blossoms be our bed
And the atmosphere our drink,
And let’s sing another song
To the lonely vultures
Whose love went all wrong
Sing another song
Then let’s return to
The bed of heaven.
Copyright © 2014 by Fiza Pathan