Rose-red voices lie intertwined
in the dew of this summer bed

dark constellations burn forth 

where my wings graze your soft grass.

We met at the corner of the dusty road, 

past the last lonely house in the village,

under the gaze of the gulmohar burning with envy,

we drank deep of that well together

the sweet waters of Now trickled down

and slaked that infinite thirst.

Music lies in torrents surrounding us

separating us,

drawing us in sharp ecstasies

and dashing against the rocks our sense of self.

Now someone turns a light on in the distance
now we step back and take stock of the prosaic landscape
now we breathe and collect our papers in a neat bundle
but now again we chose to plunge and forget.