What will I do, poet,
with your oceans of love?
My heart is scattered away
on a million desolate shores
where they thirst for but a drop.
Break your waves upon them—
Poet, I hope you love me right.
Your poesy has conjured up rains:
What will I do, poet,
with your heavy rain-clouds?
My lips are parched in the hunger
of a million starving stomachs
and parched throats…
Bring us here your bountiful harvests—
O poet, I hope you love me right.
What will I do, my poet,
with all your words and song?
My ears are lost in the cacophony
of the stories of the voiceless.
Lend your pen to all lives unwritten—
O my poet, I hope you love me right.
What will I do, lover,
with your silks and silver?
My skin erupts and burns with
the fevers of the homeless
and the poor on the streets…
Which king’s shawl is large enough?
Beloved poet, I hope you love me right.
Don’t give up love on me, poet:
for my path forks a million ways.
Don’t give up loving me, poet:
I want to be loved a million ways.
I hope you love me right.
I hope you love me right.
For RS—
Delhi, Māgha Śuklā Dvādaśī,
The 2nd of February in 2023.