all these poems...

All these poems...

All these poems have no meaning,

mumbo-jumbo without feeling;


The pretty book full of words,

with no love, it strikes no chords;


The pretty book collecting dust

I will read them if I must;


I will read them to myself,

all those thoughts in which I delve;


Rumi's love is not my fate,

in your soul, I've seen my mate;


All these feelings were not fake,

I will read them to the lake;


I will read them to the trees,

you would say "I am so .. amiss";


What a loony would say this?

"... to the lake and to the trees"?


Yet, I know that you will hear,

when your spirit comes quite near;


Not today, and not tomorrow.

you're sad now, your heart is hollow;


When you come in years that follow,

and you'll listen without sorrow;


You will hear it, my dear friend:

I've been asking for your hand.

~ Uki