Often it’s hard to differ pain and joy,Some give up on differentiating

I know surely you’re thinking of me, forI am strange, and you’re kind to the stranger

The Moth and Its BelovedAsk the moth the beauty of the candle And it will burn without a confessionThere is a secret to its longing For it feels no fear or hesitationThe moth is too much in love with the flame Yet it does not appear under the sunFor the moon’s light is far too feeble, and It gave up on its pursuit of the sunJust a sight of a candle is enough To remind it of its real belovedSo it settles for that candle in reach, Revels in its heat, and asks to be burned

Find me, as time is a luxuryFor I wait, under this naïve moon

Do you remember how the sun, setOn the occasion, we last conversed?First, it hid behind some lousy cloudsAs I was uttering my dying wordsThen, out it came with a shiny glareAs I grasped the truth of your beauty‘Twas nothing but my own reflectionTo my surprise and curiosity.Now the sun’s told our tale to this townAnd I heard how it had made you smileSo if the thought of me drew a smileThen, I have mastered true lover’s guile

Sage of old held desire as sufferingBut suffering is desire as known to me

Listen well, as I speak of my upsurge;For I’m a lover, without a loverI am a flame, without a combustionI am a novice, without a mentorI am a healer, without a woundedI am a winner, without a trophyI’m a captain, without a devoteeAnd above all, I’m alone – not lonely

But I will love you in this fire and bloodAnd I will be the keeper of your smile

And I shall seek you endlessly, forI am a moth, and you’re my flameKnowing that I’ll burn at your touchI return, for you’re a fire; untamed