Number 8

A disaster falling from the sky is easy to bear; what's hard is when it comes from the turning glance of beautiful idols. The ruby of your lips would melt like pure honey, if a single kiss could reach that lip, that mouth, that smile. The garden of paradise would breathe out perfume, if just one scent of your curls drifted into heaven's meadows. The arrow of my sigh pierces through all nine heavens, when the moment comes to leave this dusty world behind. We will spread our wings above the nine arches of the sky, when it is time to fly from this nest at last. Your bow-shaped eyebrow hunts down a thousand hearts with the arrows of your lashes, wherever love's shaft reaches.