QUINTESSENCE OF NAIVETY

The procession of the creator passes silently,
Peeping deep in my heart,
Amusing over their own dexterity.
They are many, but I am alone,
They gaze to remind,
I'm solitude prone,
Driven by desires and malicious drown.
But who is this, who show me light?
Who blossoms the lotus of love,
And give strength to fight...
Is this a demigod or prayer of prayree?
A reflection of me in the image of fairy?
Embodied mind argues, but the soul say,
He is the one you worship, you pray.
He is divine, beyond fantasy,
He is the nector of ecstasy.
He come, he grene
Gives a wordless sight and wane.
He comes in dream,
Reminding my solitude,
Giving my thoughts
A quivering delude