Oh, my dear, throw the veil away;

Come strike my lips.

Bring all those scalding rays

And seduce me with those flips.

I waited for you passionately—

In those widow dawns.

Your fickle steps deteriorate, meagerly:

“My dear, won’t you run?”

I lost every precious me,

In search of you.

I am changed now, you see

But I am not new.

The night whistles in the rage,

And rolls to the porch.

We pretend to be the powerful sage

Filled with the wisdom of torch.

-Rozesh Gautam

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