--By junior L.
The pillars of my love were accompanied by the lions of truth,
At once let us endure the piety of their gaze,
The myth of my Beauty,
"Â Gaze now peasants, For I am the king of Beauty. "
Every soul chuckled,
A myth perhaps,
A folklore told by drunk uncles who are always rambling about old tales and their discoveries of mythical creatures,
Was I a mythical creature?
I am meddled with beauty since birth,
Beauty for the breath of life,
Beauty for the strength of a soft Wind,
A soft thunder,
An ocean with waves that forces you to submit to their illusions,
Ah, If Indeed we prey on our own minds and convince him that There is someone above him was foolish enough,
Surely then, I, too can be a mythical creature,
With eyes that screams at you yelling:
"Â Â The myth of beauty, Love will conquer,
The myth of beauty, The heart's destroyer. "
Listen to the music of my old instrument,
It has played symphonies for an eternity,
And so,
It did not take me long to understand,
I opened my eyes softly at my soul,
And I saw for myself, The myth that could be.
The myth of my Beauty that is.
Namaste.