Flower of Paradise

Graceful languish towards the Throne
Throne embellished by endurance and patience
Wearing the Silken garment of ailment
This fragile flower of Paradise
Never repines
And when my tear-full eyes
Watch her laying in deep repose
And when the ailment overpowers her
The black aurora of her skin’s piety
Bedewed by the fiery pearls [1]
Clarion calls announcing my broken heart
Hastening towards her to embrace
To nestle next to the Throne
Throne embellished by endurance and patience
It is then
That her blight of the worldly light
Cures the ailments of my heart
And chars the skin of the devil
Who has besieged me all these years
And frees me to escape, to fly
To the ONE
Who bestowed upon her
The Silken garment of ailment
Embroidered by the crystal pearls of Paradise
Her last precious tears that endured
The arid void of amnesia
Long after her sound-less adieu

[1] Sweaty beads of fever, which is common flares amongst the HIV, infected

When I see her, the depleted bosoms, the mahogany fjords of her rib bones, the inexplicable hair-less cranium crowned by some terrific translucent coronet, it is as though I see with mine eyes anew. Likeness of a newborn, my eyes gazing upon this death and crying upon my soul afresh, I behold her skin reciting the most eloquent poems, blooms of gardens of Eden. Stallions of my eyes gallop to the wide valley of her nostrils, the nose that has smelled the effervescence of Paradise, to graze upon the heavenly poems. Osprey of my eyes set flight upon the parched Saharan dessert of her arid lips which only moments ago drunk from milk and honey brooks of gardens of eternity, hopelessly to dive to hunt the pearls of unearthly poems. But moments later when the sable sphinx of her life flutters to wing one last time away from the darkened truth of her throat, my eyes become the eyes of a mere man and behold nothing again… worst than being blind forever. 

© 2003-2002,  By Dara Shayda