My love, my love, my love, my love,
How the words trickle into my mouth,
Like honey oozing from a honeycomb,
Or drops from rain drenched peepul leaves,
Such abundance, such richness.
My love, my love, my love, my love,
How the words fill up my mouth,
Like a bite into a juicy fruit,
Or a lemon tart with fresh white cream,
Such fullness, such sensuality.
My love, my love, my love, my love
The words run into one another,
Pearls of sound,
Strung together.
And like a child’s musical box,
All I have to do is wind the key,
And over and over,
It sings,
My love, my love, my love, my love.
Arunima Choudhury
