Monday, June 12, 2017

JH Sayyar's Sonnets

58
As one drop of water falls in the conch,
None knows its mystery now I expose:
The conch breast is just like a monk:
Keeps all secrets like the smell of rose
The drop sojourns falling from the sky,
Its home is under the sea otherwise,
The conch knows the drop that is “my,”
As a girl in the jolly mood love spies,
You are my conch and I am your drop,
Waiting for falling in your coral breast:
I want to rest on your pretty Eton crop,
Coming to you receive me as a gust.

Come in my arms and rest in my eyes,
I give you whole night gleeful lullabies.