Magical moments are those
When I write poetry not prose
He unveils me the secret
In meaning not trivial but great

Sheer joy of meditation
Feels like an incarnation
Events happens to me in succession
I, become slave in divine relation

A scheme so close, so tight
A light so divine, so bright
Appears like an unknown gust
Comes from any direction, east or west

Lie down in the castle of solitude
Sow seed, which grows divine fruit
At this moments what runs in my nerves
Is not blood; but the soul of verse

My name eloped with my identity
My time passes with universal creativity
And now I become that object
Of which absolute truth is the subject

Magic moments are those
When I write poetry not prose