Echoes of a Sleepless Night
Listen close to the whispers of the woods,
And the heavy sigh of a sleepless night.
Deep in the fading brush, a nightingale chokes back its song.
Listen to the rustling wind, humming a low refrain,
And the boundless breath of a forest in full bloom.
The leaves tilt to the bird’s silver notes, playing the heart’s hidden melody.
Listen to the weeping of the midnight sky, pleading for the moon,
Pleading for a summer night, hushed and still,
Where a thousand stars wander, and the moon stands lost in a daze.
A tranquil path, a lone road stretching into the dark.
Listen to those silent steps, the proud grace of her rosy heels.
Entrusting to the moonlit night a ballad of endless longing,
Sending a sigh of yearning to a trysting place beneath the azure stars.
Late is the hour, the moon stands bewildered, yet the clouds drift blindly by.
The breeze skims low, swaying to the rhythm of timeless verse.
The shimmering road, the road of golden memories,
Forever etching a profound yearning, a nostalgia of a thousand years.
Echoes of a Violet AÀternoon
I whisper to the closing day: Will the sunbeams wander back?
Or do they drift alone, veiled in their own sweet sorrow?
The sun, cloaked in melancholy, is in no rush to arrive,
Leaving the old path standing still, lost in a daze of waiting.
The little bridge gently embraces the deep violet river,
Cradling the yearning, and a fragile, hazy path toward home.
I watch the afternoon slip by, so longing for a kiss of light.
Did the sun forget this way, or did it vanish to trace an ancient cloud?
The flowers are still here, the trees keep their dress of green,
Wild perfumes linger, and willows still weep softly by the river.
An afternoon of love, an afternoon of yearning, an afternoon of dreams,
Waiting for the sun.
Waiting for a slice of purple sky, a little drifting, a little dream.
