By Sneha Verma
For thee be my love, dear angel of Heaven,
The gilded passions of divine love be thy nourishment.
I have loved thee—yes, I love thee
Hidden and obscure, our love hath grown,
Me, a mere mortal, seeking forbidden divinity.
Look not upon the prying eyes of fallen angels,
Let not thy silken brows frown.
Yes, I can hear it
The subtle fluttering of thy water heart.
Fear not my adoration,
For I shall be with thee in thick and thin.
Me, the ocean—endless and insatiable—shall surround thee.
Fear not my turmoils, for even in the midst of rage,
I shall bury thy head in this transparent bosom of mine,
Dying from without, but alive within.
O angel, thy power thou knowest no
Thou embracest the ocean and drownest not,
Thou fightest fire and burnest not.
Hear, O hear, soul of my soul:
The ocean lives on, feeding on the storm,
Churning within. She endures...
Trust her—she shall devour the stones thrown at thy wings.
Powerful and quiet, she shall create a harbour.
She lives in the bottomless wells of thine eyes
Yet remains unknown.
Pardon, O lover,
For she shall not fit in thy golden glass.
Her love is powerful—her passion, a metamorphosis.
She knows herself—worry not.
Built of rhinestones,
She moves beyond the storms she hath buried.
Love her, O angelic youth
She beckons thee beyond questions.
For love be her name
And the lover, her nourishment.