The moon at the window

tonight, was like a dreamcatcher.

I am going to sleep in your charm.

Image builders were

becoming scarce. In your tempest

I will find my dustbath.

Amidst the sailing

swans, becoming a semi-recluse,

you wanted to write poetry.

Why don't you go back

to your home, O fairy?

Did I clip your wings?

Not for sale.How

far it was? My liberation

from the shadow of the lips?

Ashened, a fakir wanted

to give away his precious jewel

to an unknown star.