I drift across oceans of failure, while you, riding slow in your palanquin, make your unhurried way.
I catch the scent of date palm jaggery in flocks of mynahs, while you join the crowds at the fair around the pole of devotion.
In lotus petals laughing themselves to pieces, I glimpse a child's innocent smile, while you just keep up the charade, your red-and-blue performance.
By the still, solitary pond I discover intoxication... today every craving seems to grip me! While over there you play the cop, endlessly playing cops and robbers.
Like a crow with a chest full of thirst, I wait, restless. In the waiting itself I find the dwelling place of true love. I understand—this waiting is what makes us human. While you give waiting the finger, calculating fate's accounts in the creases of your own restlessness.
Does any of this make sense, tell me?