I wait for you at the temple gate
With deep-brown smudgings
of a thousand earthen lamps
And absent minded Jasmines
My flickering restless eyes
Pursue these ancient walls
Only incense-lit questions arise
I close my fist on their smoky forms
And open a forlorn palm
Those lines you traced,
the blood that raced,
All intact, All still wait.
Does the night sky give up
its quest for light,
Or is it born to be quelled
By forlorn palms of the dawn?
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