My Work - Poetry

Your Eyes

Your eyes store the magic of supreme beauty
And in front of beauty I always feel enslaved.
Your eyes have a sparkle that snatches my vision
Like lightning in the deep darkness.
Your eyes are enigmas that I long to solve,
Gleaming beheath eyelashes and half-closed lids.
Your eyes have a warmth, nay a fire in which I melt
Tell me how such a flame could emanate from water!
Oh! Lady with such sweet eyes, be not so harsh on one
Who is drunk with the nectar of your eyes, like a limpid soul
Who finds in your eyes the cup of death so sweet,
From which of those two eyes must then he drink?
I am like a butterfly for which a flame spells death
But undeterred, still wings towards that flame
Have pity! For in your eyes I fly so high
Yet in them too I drown so deep!

London, 1964