Spread himself

You are my wind from Macklod’s mountains,
Which is running more quick than to Delhi trains!
You are my old movie with impossible tenderness.
And I have in this act the main role and face.
You are those flower which is going to turn in a butterfly.
But only my roots have the wings which you need to fly!
You are my grass and my peacock stepping between the wavering stalks.
I saw: your land sensate proudness from your wise unsimilar talks!

I smelled a pale pink sunrise
Inwards a darkness of your eyes.
You have to find divine way nice.
It’s the essence of blood’s advice.

The marvel of your birth was forethought by the falling fires in Indian sky.
Our meeting’s foretaste made you wait for till 25 years, my guy !
You are dissolved now in my burning skin, shining hair and nails.
Every sound of your voice or breath creates an azure see of fairy tale.
May be, you consist from paper and inspiration with small part of wet fresh snow.
May be, mastic color gave you hope on the insanity fifty-fifty with lover crows.
My hands, my fingers don’t see through the foggy wall: what will happen…
Nevertheless my taste and smell are flying toward you new life to pen!