For Anima

I want to sing to you
The sweetest odes I could ever sing
To dedicate each and every word
That shall pass this lips with nothing
But just a whim

To dance with you, to you,
The music of the wind, the trees,
And of my heart
That flies overjoyed
With one glance, one smile,
One moment, even with just
A slight movement
Of he, whose this dull me wishes for

But never plea
For begging is for cowards
Who hides among the pretentious
Acts and words of self-satisfaction

No, begging is not for me
For my love, as it is, should be free
For he, himself, my love
Has a heart of his own
And it is not for me, no never it will be,
For me to decide,
Oh how I wish I could decide,
Who should be the master of his heart

Though, through this all,
of all I have said and done
The foolish me cannot resist
to dream a foolish dream
For the fools of highest esteem

For this is no longer in my command
For my hand writes on its own,
like the wind who blows on its own accord
My lips sings and calls for thee
just like how the waves troubles the sea

With this, it is never-ending,
For the wishes and hopes will
Just pile up with more wishes and hopes
Which is more intense and much more
Bolder than the latter

It is indeed true,
That the greatest pain is not to love
but to love in vain
But, at least, with this
I must ask, what can he see,
Or rather, can he even see me,
As I strip down and bare this
Ignorant soul of my own,
Right down to it's very core