You keep coming to me
Like the Baishakhi mast wind
Like the incessant rain in the monsoon
Like the cozy fog of early winter.
Like the wooing cuckoo in the green spring.

You keep coming to me
Like inevitable breathing in clusters
Like thirst in arid trodden days
Like fire in phosphorus mine

The Bard goes on singing urging for
Eternal coition.

I know you turned into existential crisis, and
I know I have been born in fresh and blood.

And now that I want to live forever!