Classic Poem

A thing that still hasn't come up to my lips and only peeks through my eyes,
It asks for words, sometimes from me and sometimes from you,
So that it can wear those words and come to the lips,
And so that it could be embraced by words..

But this thing is actually a feeling…only a feeling,
It's like a fragrance floating in the air,

Fragrance, which has no voice…and about which you know and I know too.
It is not hidden from the world, what kind of a secret it is?