Thy Voice, My Abyss

Thee — the prison of my thoughts,
Deep akin to the meandering roads,
Tickles my soul with thy abyssal voice,
Crooning akin to nightingale in the nicest choice.

Silvering clouds of the wintry feel,
Dance over the horizon and hills,
Thine art of adoration shines akin to clouds,
With no flaws and no doubts.

The supreme of all the stories of love,
You’re the cherished dove,
Dove with no wings to fly,
But soars with affection above thy sky.

The sweetness like untouched nectar of bloom,
With no flaws resembling moon,
Radiates the beauty of my room,
With lullaby of arousal in addicted croon.

Thee — the tiny star behind the horizon,
Filled with intense emotions,
Flows flawlessly akin to the ocean,
Guiding my universe in righteous direction.

Thou art of love resembles the purity of gem,
With no play of dirty game,
For you’re my soul to be found,
And chained by love abound.

©® Babiya iradnahB
Poetry Hunter
BHUTAN