Twenty years back I gave my heart to you.
On a rain swept afternoon, you thundered by on a Royal Enfield.
To stop and look at me, crying and holding an injured pigeon.
You brought me home and never left.
But I wandered far and long away from you.From home. To set up house . With only walls.
The walls cave in and the house crumbles.
I sit amongst the debris for a long time.Willing them to re-build.
The rains rescue me.They wash away the house with its broken walls.
I think I should return home.But I do not seem to remember the way.
So I sing our song.
Hoping the wind carries my voice to you.
Thinking how it used to be, Does he still remember times like these?
To think of us again?
The joy when you reply “And I do”.
The thousand years in between vanish.
I measure the summer’s day.And find it slips to ecstasy.
Tangerine, Tangerine Shams.Living reflection from a dream.
I am your love, I am your queen.
Its time for shared sleep,my King.
(Making love with a woman and sleeping with a woman are two separate passions, not merely different but opposite. Love does not make itself felt in the desire for copulation (a desire that extends to an infinite number of women) but in the desire for shared sleep (a desire limited to one woman)-Milan Kundera