Paimona

"Paimona bideh ki khumoor astam

Paimona bideh ki khumoor astam

Mann aashiq-e chashm-e mast-e-yarastam

Mann aashiq-e chashm-e mast-e-yarastam

Bidee bidee ki khumoor astam

Paimona bideh ki khumoor astam."

It is near dawn, when he complains I have beautiful eyes. And then the smells of sleep and love leave him bare.

It's in his hands that he holds me, my memory.

Fairy lights illuminate this little space. Half in shadows, my body celebrates. As if each and every bit calls out to him. Recalling his fingers entwined with mine. His first touch. Or when just his sight was my own memory.

A smile. And various dreams behind those shut, moist eyes.