When will my ink flow
again, my love?
When the cool zephyrs
are laced
with warm scents
of your return
When the soft feathers
are rustled
with whispers
of your breath
When the still waters
are rippled
by the fluid waves
of my feelings
When will my ink flow
again, my love?
When peacocks sing
to the majesty
of the clouds
from a hidden alcove.
When the bells ring
in the distance
to chimes
of heavens above.
When the well-spring
of my soul is filled
to brim
with nectars of love.
Let my ink flow
again, my love.
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