Baskadia

How can I walk pass you on the road,
And not turn to look?
Fine little black Rose,
Bathing in the clearing of the moon.

Wow! An Elysium of beauty she's gained,
Burning in the bright flame of perfection.
Oh! Have I been drinking again,
Or that by her beauty my will is bent to submission?

Wait a minute! Let me confirm.
She's beyond splendor, I confess.
Tell my companions to go without me,
Oh seven heavens, your beauty!
Ah, I must be drinking too much!

I am no Merchant of oratories.
I flirt not with my wordings.
What I say is true,
And what is true, I say and do.

My heart may be dead to feel.
Crucify me, not with it.
For my crush had crushed my clutches,
And the rose that once rose had rose to ashes.
My mind may be scarred and sore of late,
Potioned with the nectar of care and hate.
Damn me not by the cover,
Else, again, I may suffer.

Twenty-four moons have burnt out over you under my consciousness.
I have never been oblivious of your existence.
If I had initiated a "hello",
I feared your response would be hollow.

I am no ardent worshiper,
Yet, I have prayed aloud and in whispers.
I am no die-hard believer of faith,
Yet, I believe our meeting is fate.

Fine little black Rose!
Fine little black Rose!
Do I stand a chance in this quest and strive?
Let me know before my rivals would arrive.