Essence
According to your whims
And All the pigments
Drawn from my dreams
Cannot paint your loveliness.
I know you want me to paint,
But life interferes,
Besides, I make watercolours
For you in dreams
Blurred with tears.
Even when you sleep
I tap messages
On walls that separate us.
Your dressing table
Is a shrine of perfumes,
A sanctuary
Where incense lingers.
Your scent is everywhere—
You’ve marked
All my territory as yours
And just so you know,
Your perfume is you—
The scent of your skin,
Fragrance of your hair—
Fresher than wind
When snow fills the air.