Baba Fighani #54

Flower on flower, your cheek
blossomed in my dewy eyes.
The rosebed of your beauty
blossomed in my pure vision.

Blood drips in the meadow
from the scar at the heart of the tulip,
as if this very moment
it blossomed from my cleft heart.

Every flower your beauty's
painter painted
blossomed on the stream bank
of my moist eyes.

This morning each tulip
that blossomed from my dust
wept blood over the days
killed by your absence.

Her face, Fighani, a fresh rose
from the garden of loveliness,
blossomed to polish
the eyes of my perception.