I kneel-bent am, in a gorge, in a desert parched perennially
And see you running towards me—a stream of humming happiness.
In your waters, myriad colours, they mingle madly.
I see around; a desert dances in its green grace.
The spring’s here, and it’s here to stay, to myself I say.
My hands fold and bow down in a thirsty desperate dip,
But your (river’s) drops, by distances unseen, but felt, keep away.
The drops do drown down my sight, but sans settling in a single sip.
Each dancing drop passing in its leap, ever ecstatic
Greets my green grace (desert)-grazing gaze, and I surmise
That the happiness face-to-face is a fantasy far fantastic.
And away you meander leaving moist only one trace- that in my eyes.
I then faint in that gorge, in a green garden parched as ever
And see you running away from me—a stream of pampered pain.
In your waters mocking at me is a mob of colors, clever,
Which was invigorating, variegated, vibrant, and now—VANISHING and VAIN.
(A poem on what happens when love means too much to you, and loving, too much for the one you love)