What is beauty!

What is beauty!
Those moments of which I recall nothing
but a joyous, featherlight, blank;
and when those moments end
the last glimpse of that sweet feeling,
as if from a closing door comes a slit of light,
an utterance: oh, that was beautiful!
Those moments when death loses all its power
and with that the idea of time becomes meaningless,
with no need to separate
one moments from thousand others;
where length, as a dimension, is lost
and it is the depth, the final dimension,
that rises like a wave,
when it is not fear but desire
that makes me feel alive.
But, then love could be described similarly?
Yes.
Perhaps, beauty and love are like mother and child:
they originate from each other,
who from whom,
and who is who,
impossible to know.

-Pulastya