for her soul – version 1.
For the soul’s sweet plea in plaintive tone,
In Babylon’s blaze, where smoky petals are sown,
Semiramis weeps, her gaze growing dim,
The torch’s blue fire, a rusted hymn.
The celestial queens, their black pearls descend,
The idol crumbles, dreams in marble rended.
As the soul shatters in whimsical flight,
As a well dries up, its water in plight.
Beneath the waves, a sea in silence sleeps,
A trident-forked path, where crystal speech creeps.
If dust and ashes, why does language reveal,
The bareness of body, emotions to peel?
No tower gleams green in the sun’s last kiss,
The ‘I’’s final solace, a stillborn bliss.
for her soul – version 2.
In the burning garden of Babylon, petals of smoky flames,
Dimming eyes of fading Semiramis,
Azure fire roaring in the rust-kissed torch,
Heavenly queens’ rolled black pearls.
The idol is destined to shatter marble-like,
As the soul dreamily breaks,
A cracked well with dwindling water,
Silent seabed beneath the waves.
A trident-shaped barricaded crossroads,
Encountered crystalized human speech.
If dust and ashes, why does the tongue wash away your bodily layers,
leaving you bare?
No tower shines green in the evening sunlight,
The ‘I’’s final solace, a stillborn bliss.
