A low hum of a living breeze
Like a hymn,
Soothes vivacious trees and flowers and grass
Into a mystic enchantment
In a broad blessed splendor
Above, the three moons stoop.
One entrust, a mug, but Astavidat!
Astavidat turns bloody
Devoid of life and feelings
On a bench,
His arm around her bare neck
But the enslaving luster
Pours from Astavidat, showering her, Ashtad.
Craze, she turns craze
Ashtad the new Astavidat abode
Free and mindless
Devours his soul, a cold blade deep in his heart!
Sadique @2017
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