Whims

 
Some day, will you wake me at midnight to tell me stories?
Some morning, will you keep your eyes on mine all day long?
Some night, will you keep me awake to speak of stars?
Some quiet moment, will you mix rice and fish with your own hands and feed me?


Or perhaps, suddenly before some dawn, shaking me awake
you'll say with a laugh, sit beside me! Look, I'm writing a poem.
Sitting alone like this somehow fills me with fear!
I'm reading the poem, see! Do the rhythm and meter sound right?


Some day will you take me, when the evening sun grows soft,
on rickshaw rides through the city? Nothing grand—
just you, me, and the rickshaw-puller stopping somewhere for fuchka.
From your pocket will tumble a hundred fifty rupees and a handful of love!


You know, lately all this nonsense spins through my head!
I was better off before! Less love, fewer dreams!
And now, look! The more love I receive, the greedier I become—twice over!