The first smoke of love comes in home,
That I have to build with love
When I get married in making spheres
To take all flames of fingers
Into shells of feeling, brows and arches
Over the breeding, passing, and dancing,
And the building is build
With bricks, cement and concrete construction.
The house is full of sounds of ringing
Of tea cup and spoon altogether,
The house is full of falling sound of utensils
The house is full of dinner table talks,
We are living in this house for years,
As a family we are locked in minds,
That goes with struggles, with simple trace
Of mind’s travel into real touching, forming,
Defending and striking densely into singing,
That lies in snow sometimes, in volcano sometimes,
Entangled in free and fair assumptions for life.
And since I perceive the destiny that is unknown,
I then put the words -
On the floor of daily walking
Where we put our furniture of daily use
That takes our blue regions of paining
That I purchased for feeling life of expectancy.
I take everything for sweet embrace,
The wave moves in swaying,
That the earth earmarked everything
And we have to take part on the way we perceive.