In the midst of illusions,
I walk, unknowingly, toward you;
My dim and weary eyes
Still wait, faithfully, for you.
“Who am I?” and “Who are you?”
These questions haunt my mind;
Through doubt, through shadow, through silence,
Your presence stands—calm, undefined.
On the depth of a darkened road,
I search for a trembling light;
She opens her gentle eyes—
And day is born from night.
In deadly, unmoving silence,
Her single word becomes Heaven;
I am a tale woven by longing,
She is the truth, ever-living.
At the dawn of my silent dream,
My eyes seek a green valley afar;
There, within a flower’s tender heart,
I discover who we are.
Her fragrance lifts my fallen soul
From the dust of waking pain;
She is the reality behind my story,
And the story behind my reality’s name.
For without her, I am only a voice,
Lost in imagination’s sea;
But through her, the unreal becomes real—
And the story becomes me.

.    .    .