Poet Between The Sheets bikram

Translation:



This monsoon, come home to me,

The pitter patter drops on the roof

are as much a comfort as they are

a reminder of my loneliness from you. 



Just beyond the doorway, 

My shadow gets wet in your memories, 

while inside, the soul is parched.



This monsoon, come home to me, 

when the cold breeze

runs a chill down my spine, 

when the poet's poetry,

slips from him and drifts away in the wind.

Come, be my poetry then.



In those brown eyes, 

bring again the memories of our long lost songs,

bring them to your lips,

and bathe them in a haunting melody,

come, be my song then.

This monsoon, come home to me.  

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