Your Eyes

In Samarkand :
I dream of your eyes picking
up the moon beams
from decrepit Chinar branches
in Kashmir. I dream of your night.
I dream of your sky rattling against tinkle of your anklets.
The hues your blush wears
when I paint your nails
the motley colors of love.

I dream of those long walks in rain ,
the songs of strange silence looming in our horizons like blue bells.

I dream you, unknowingly, singing to lilacs :

" My eyes, my eyes? "

I dream you , in the meadows of absence, complaining to daffodils :

" My eyes, my eyes? "

My dreams figure you in my incomplete poems
What would your eyes look like?
They are bees. I can not resist their sting.