Ink-Stained Affection

The Unspoken Muse

When first I beheld you,
You stole away my dreams of night.
From whence did you rise,
To fill my mind with your face so bright?

Why, in thoughts of you,
Do I spend these sleepless nights?
In the chorus of the cuckoo's song,
I lose the sense of days and time.

You entered my heart's haven,
And there you sit, unmoved from your place.
Why did you stir me so,
Rousing my heart with tremors of grace?

In your enchantment, I am lost,
Searching yet never finding my world.
Unseen by my mind, you now reside
In my soul's innermost threshold.

What tender metaphor could I conjure
To perfume the garden of my heart?
In you, I sense the purity,
As of a field of autumn's white kans flowers.

With an inspiration unknown,
You made me your own, though I'm undeserving.
My symbols, my metaphors all elude me,
My words themselves dissolve, unnerving.

Till now, I've seen no painted heart,
None with a likeness so true.
No artist's hand could capture your form;
In verse, I fail to render you.

You are the monsoon's clouds, the flowers of spring,
Binding me fast with your web of allure.
In fields of crops, the breeze of dawn
Fills the air with wishes pure.

At dawn's break, the eastern sun
Longs to hear your morning call.
The trees nestled beneath mountain peaks
Strain to greet you with longing for all.

I turn to my dictionary,
Searching for some word to name you, unique.
What phrase could convey
The beauty that only silence can speak?