On the wings of swans I came, my love, On the wings of swans I came.
With my beating pomegranate heart, In my outstretched hand.

But the river’s dry in the vale, my love, With not a drop to drink.
In the desert the starlight stabs the sky, And dead water sighs in the sea.

You wrung the necks of my swans, my love, You picked clean their fair white breasts.
I cannot find my way back, my love, There’s no one to carry me.

Your tables are set for a feast, my love, And your stone halls are bright.
So stretch out your gentle hand, my love, And take this pomegranate heart.

Tags: alina zaria, poetry