During the long winter night
Interminable darkness with
Solitary disposition
Of fearful thoughts.
Unrefined.
Spiritless,
Depressed,
And downcast mind.

My tired vision floated above
From one sphere to another
In search to perceive
The traces of enduring beauty
Of my precious but
Confounded love.

Instead, my hasty senses
Preyed the ancient beauty of
Pasithea,
One of the Graces of Zeus
Who bathed herself out in portals
In heavenly oil of ambrosial
To please the dead souls of high nobles
Strained in legendry realm of immortals.

She was delightful more than enough
To gratify the living thoughts
Of inquisitive mythologists;
Charming enough to rebounce
In the wisdom of disheartened poets.
And extremely fabulous; she was rife.
Conferred by the resilient vision
Of innumerous but zealous artists
Who gave her imperishable
Span of endless life.

In their prudent silence,
All these romantic men strived
For long myriad ages
In perpetual persuasions of
Enchanted beauty of breathless
Pasithea, who only lived
In dreams of unknown lovers.
Elusive and subtle.
Hence she diffused the spell of her beauty
Insidious pleasure for them to recover.

In my dejected and starving mind
Her crucial envision was evasive,
Because my poor mind
Was destitute enough as
An old, deadly, and forgotten shrine.
That hardly receives any visitors,
Neither a flendish worshiper
Nor a famished beggar's whine.
Just an awful, lasting tranquility.
All around me and behind.

Cruelly depressive harshness
Of many unwanted and
Aimless dreams;
Drifted her splendid image
From one corner of mind to another
With horrific and disturbing themes.

Yet my beloved silent visitor
Intrigued my appalled soul
Exuberantly,
Fascinatingly,
And most of time
Compassionately.

When I tried to reach her,
Her sorcerous image
Riffled from valley to valley.
Frequently she hid herself among
The stony and breathless souls
Biding to win the exalted nobles.
Inhumed behind dilapidated walls
Distained royal palaces and poles.

She was beyond my reach.
Lives farther than twilight.
In quivering and tremulous percept
Fading as dim rays of starlight.

But, oh! My silent visitor
The sanctuary of my humble mind
Is permanently open for your sublime.
You my dear, come and go at anytime.

Ashraf Gohar Goreja
January 21,2003