It was long ago, in the bazaar of love,
when ships were sailing in the hue of sand,
and we travelled miles together —
but spent the rest of the journey in hate.
I hide myself in the sand of time,
passing through and through that mile;
she comes and goes with a hope —
one day, or one life, I’ll have her.
Like a desert with no reason for death,
I never could stand a reason to love again;
but with the grace of words, and of silence,
I speak my hate again — with a love for her.
She is a miracle of storm,
flowing away with every gust of the tale;
some are stories, some are fable —
but I just settle with the dream of her.
And with the loss, I conquer the fear of losing her.
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