By JH Sayyar
When tempests rise within thy tender eyes,
And storm-clouds shadow o'er thy radiant face,
The gentlest soul becomes a flame that flies,
And wrath adorns thee with a fiercer grace.
Thy silence thunders more than loudest cries,
A whispered wound no healer can erase;
Yet in thy frown a thousand meanings lie—
Not hate, but love in passion's fierce embrace.
O would I calm the tide that shakes thy breast,
And lay soft words like balm upon thy flame;
But anger makes thee even lovelier dressed,
A divine fire no poet yet has dared to name.
Though fury darkens all thy golden hue,
My heart still kneels and ever burns for you.
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