I once had a future. I gave it up
to pursue the ghost of love.
Your fault, my Dear.
You're the wild goose I chase.
What's to be done, when a flirtation
becomes an obsession?
Pray for me, people of the world
from your various rows and pews,
your prayer rugs and tatamis.
I'm lost data that can't be retrieved.
O Beloved, You know my words are just love patter
to draw Your ear closer to my hungry lips.
O child of God, remembrance is a method of liberation.
You can't seem to get the Beloved out of your head.