When should I begin,
with the first monsoon preceding my birth?
How could I show you
all of this one soul, and not?
Inside the first moment of your touch,
I am changed.
Life's rhythm is softly and forever disturbed.
Should I not give all of myself for more,
but comfort myself instead with less?
Should I be afraid, then,
to hold you? That which is everything.
To know is not to see these lines
as having crass designs, but to feel them,
like desert seeds, quenched at last
by the long awaited rain.
They yearn for your light to grow and
color the meadows with flowers white and gold,
to lead us home.