Illusions

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As it fell upon a mid-day,

In the merry month of May,

Sitting in a charming shade

Which orchard of myrtles made,

Tasting of Flora and the country green, 

Dance in a love song, and sun seen

Beasts did leap and birds did sing

Trees did grow and flora did spring,

Everything did expel in my own moan

Save this sweet nightingale alone.

She, the poor bird, as all forlorn,

Shrinks her breast against a thorn,

Among  the leaves has never known,

I might sing, leave the world unseen,

My heart burns; body lack of sensation

Souls in a deep pain of stimulation,

Living meaningless and in an illusion

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BY

WILLIAMSJI MAVELI