I think passion
I think of you
I think devotion
I think of you.
I see you pouring a cup of tea
More intense than her midnight poetry.
Sometimes she appears, as she wrote she would
Lighting your canvas with a spark
Sometimes as a magical line
Piercing right through your heart.
Her tumultuous ink swirls and flows
You tender rose.
Who can ever describe to us
What it truly means to be you?
Perhaps the coolest forest stream,
Perhaps the fleeting morning dew.
Or the bird that startles with its call
But remains hidden from the view.
Love’s a mystery. No one knows
Why it begins, how it grows
Yet love returns again and again
On her poetry’s boundless shore.
The entire universe sways in dance
With a grand rhythm that ebbs and flows
As the gentle winds sigh your name
– Paromita Goswami