All these poems...
All these poems have no meaning,
mumbo-jumbo without feeling;
The pretty book full of words,
with no love, it strikes no chords;
The pretty book collecting dust
I will read them if I must;
I will read them to myself,
all those thoughts in which I delve;
Rumi's love is not my fate,
in your soul, I've seen my mate;
All these feelings were not fake,
I will read them to the lake;
I will read them to the trees,
you would say "I am so .. amiss";
What a loony would say this?
"... to the lake and to the trees"?
Yet, I know that you will hear,
when your spirit comes quite near;
Not today, and not tomorrow.
you're sad now, your heart is hollow;
When you come in years that follow,
and you'll listen without sorrow;
You will hear it, my dear friend:
I've been asking for your hand.
~ Uki
