Is there anything more permanent ?
Is there anything more vain ?
For surely the word we call last
Will outlast all our attempts to change

The fantasy of my fruity art
Unbosoms the watermelon of my heart
Where juices fall in cascade of oranges
Streaming the cherries of my eyes
Transporting them to lake of plums
Where apples, pears and bananas drift
By the waves of gustoso grapes
And undertow of cantaloupes relates
The astrology of pomegranates
Scintillating the zest of figs
Inspiring the feasting of berries
No fruit shall be bereft of role
For every fruit's taste expands the soul.

I engraved her name on the picnic table
Then I engraved the stone over her grave
I engraved the memory of her face on my heart
I engraved the words on the walls of  my prayers
Then out of desparation I engraved her memory in poem

The love of a woman in pure form
Will break every bone of my emotions
I'm too scared to enter such hellish house
Too coward to swallow such fire of love
That reduces my flame to burning ashes
Keeping me away from reviving wind
Suffocating but not dead I remain
Till I be consumed fully by her holy art
Where I shall rise again like a Phoenix
But my feeble mind, my scaredy ego
Can't handle such trying transformation
And I remain in what could have been
Where my heart regrets the lack of sand
The danger I be too afraid to stand
Lucky the man who falls in the well
The abyss of pure fire of woman.