The urge is too real, Raadha,
To tell the world who you are —
To admit to you that it aches inside not to
Take you, to rip your clothes,
To meet your yearning eyes with mine and to
Slide it deep inside. And to push it an inch more,
To inhale your sigh.
While we sit taking our sugared tea,
The silences intervening.
Your eyes – there is a tension which I
Think is the half-hearted call of the
Desired, still wavering.
But, only if I could tell you,
That the only tea I need is brewed in you,
That is need not be sugared, that it
Need not be as thick as this: that
There’s only one plunge I have in mind
As we make the smallest talk
On irrelevancies and topics that
This tension cannot bear.