In-deed

It’s still hot, there’s a lot more Kashmiri chai

Here it comes - love’s dainty adorner

A corn-baited snare is each glance of that eye

And a wine shop lurks in the corner

We’re more likely to have thunder without lightning

How could I possibly finish pages of thee in writing?

If the World's trees were turned into pencils

And if the Seas were to be used as ink

Forests would empty and the roots extencile

The Ocean would be drained like a sink

Hai hai,

Imaginative love that is so prehensile

Haven’t you learned how to think?