I may have stepped on my own rake.
I was trying to sow a seed of love in your land.
I giggle, I wonder.
By this act—so sly—
which raises a question: a why?
A why! Which seems to be an answer.
An answer for the feeling caused on that day,
when you said, "Hi."

An unconditional clause; always leading my breath to take a pause.
Without an audience and without an act,
am I a mad artist?
What are these applauses?
What is this pact?
Like a patient in an asylum, I react.
You pledged, "When you find your love, your 'ishq,' you won't leave it."
I have already found you.
When will you find me?
A relinquishment, a wish.