[Durlabh Singh]

Pass your hand over
The face where I suspect
Some salamander song
Of passions and dreary touch.

Eternity to the eyelids
And dark blossoms to the lips
The perspiration on the brow
When changed to the petals.

Passing your hand over
The face do not bare
Cold paled bleached air
The long turrets
Flayed apart
By finger butts
Sweet as a lark.

Born of waters I was
The child sprung of earth
Taught by the winds
A fearless song
Sought by the multitudes
The thistle and the rose
Nor did a beggar sworn
The fervours of venus or saturn
The proud spirit only did stare
Face to face in the darkened pattern.