Some loves
arrive as quietly
as mornings
in a forest.
Jets of daylight
burst through the
foliage and trickle
down branches,
gulping along
their way the
minty night from
cold leaf-tips.
It then sips into
the ferny bed,
caressing our
fallen leaves with
a rekindled hope.

Now when such
love sets on us,
it is obviously no
regular dusk.
For the receding
light of our
wounded souls,
scatters the sky
with scarlet grief,
as the diving winds
brush our unrequited
ends to stoke a
gouging fire.

- Sobhan