How You blow Your pipe, Lord...

O how could You
Lord
Blow Your golden pipe such?
As if the air taken in
So be gold
And me gets only the gleam
As if a film covering enveloping me all the time
As if me gets drunk
As if me gets sunk
Into a sea
So blue deep
And greenish,

O how could You
Lord
Create poppies bursting in one's soul such
As if intoxication descends like a twilight song
Sung by love
Never seen
Or touched
As if She had kept her far
Still how could You
Lord
Send air carrying her...
Her pink, the lotus in her
Blooming so so fragrant sweet...
As if me gets her smiles as a treat...
Ever lasting...
Like a soul filling in,
Overflowing,
And flooding still
Every minute
Of a second tiny lost not,
Every big
Of a small always falling soft, moist...

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