Where are you bellows, master of my hearth,
This day the pink robe of brightness has flown…
The autumn garden embraces me closely in its wisdom,
since the gusty weather started.
I leap through thoughts, in the raging seas,
Of diamond boulders whipped by hurricanes.
I am dying, cooled by suffering, wilting
I wake at night, longing to meet you at dawn.
The noble font of my writing, lost,
You pearl of an illiterate blinded by illusion,
Imagined with one drop of loyalty
Come alive; divinity, known as forgiveness…