May I not see the moon this once,
shinier than the arrogance of Olympus,
what if it covets silence,
and shudders at the thought of listening?
May I not drench in rain this once,
piercing the core of spirited being,
what if it detests touching mortals,
and craves the sanctity of earth?
May I be plunged into the abyss of my reflections,
lamenting implicit principles,
what if they are folds of obscurity,
engulfing the whites of utopia?
May I be bound to chains this once,
held at the edge of this cliff,
what if the sea is freezing,
and the prisoner wishes to survive?
May I not reach home this once,
strange portions of medicine,
what if solitude was calmer than destination,
and kindness forgotten.
May I not reach home this once,
strange portions of medicine,
what if solitude was calmer than destination,
and kindness forgotten.
May I not pray this once,
frenzied speculations and unmeasurable pleas,
what if it parades to the devil,
and the ones in sanctum yearn salvation?
