So as they say
It is only the true love
That will last forever,
Not the corrupted desire of possession
Which is destined to immerse into
The dreadful darkness.

But what then the true love is?
Though I am clearly aware of
Nor it is the illusion of fruitless waiting;
Nor the torturous crave for a distant smile;
Nor the painful admiration for a nonchalant rose.
But for what course that my heart
Still adamantly embraces the
Endless resonance of futile lines
In the deepest part of the soul?

For numerous times I have asked myself,
If I abstained myself, if so possible,
From the unbridled yearning for
Your countenance comparable to the brilliant sunrise,
And your fascination unmatched by the sweetest wine,
Then how this heart will retain
Its vigorous beatings,
Which translate into the passionate verses
And vanish day after day
Into the splendor twilight of
Ephemeral sunset?