The eastern windows boding the morn
Thanks thee have dissipated the storm

Fading congenially in thy tutelar's arms
Reining    eternally    with    no     harms

With a few  regrets two or  three
Like heart pounding into the sea

And  yet   ready   for  an  awaiting  storm
Prepared for thy soul in pieces to be torn

Around blues and darks the psyche twines,
But imagination nurtures hope within

Stepping into Malakh's shoon
How abysmal will it be aboon

Eternity unlike the transcience's faem
Lies   in   being   what's  in   thy  haem