Is He My Fantasy

Is he my fantasy,

But he seems so real.

His voice is like clear water,

That flows along in vast forest far and silent,

Where calmness lives alone.

His presence is like the lotus,

Blooms even by the stagnant streams,

Beneath the temple arches

Where peace sits and dreams.

His kisses are the roses

That glow while dusk is deep

In Persian garden closes

Were Quiet falls asleep.

His hugs are the first breeze of spring,

That rejuvenates the dry and bleached souls of human being,

that lies behind the dud appearances,

Where woes are replaced by rejoicing.

Is he my fantasy,

But he seems so real.