Harvesting of Love
Oh my love you are the most satisfying nemesis that paralyses my soul, the hope and delight of my eyes.
I have passed my hobbies and continued to lobby for more ways of giving you the fullest attention.
The sun shone on the desert experience of my soul that was dry, but the desert was turned to green fields of love filled with lots of roses.
The sky was dripping with distilled water, but now with honey because of the love I had expected yonder.
The butterflies fly around and visiting all the red roses.
My tears surely have been shed, but tears of joy.
And the sea has always looked blue because the sky has radiance on it, as though your eyes forecasts reveal.
And I will accept the time of the heavy harvest, and protect you from the hungry falcons from snatching you from my firm hands. I give you the sickles to keep in your hands so that we can cultivate and harvest together this thing called love.
Come on, let us plow deep inside our souls and sing the songs of David and Solomon.
And the seeds we plant in the field of the department of love will flourish with flowers and prayers of enchantments.
Oh my love you are the most beautiful one, you are the soul, the heart beat and the vision.
Ottawa International Poets and Writers for human Rights (OIPWHR)
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