‘I stopped looking at you too much
For fear that lest evil eye fall on you’

I stopped thinking of you more often
For the fear of forgetting my own self

I stopped talking to you every day
For the fear of losing my speech

I stopped my ears from listening your sweet voice
Even honey started to taste bitter for me

I stopped writing about you every hour
My readers began to complain against you

O Malanadan Rose. Do justice to this Nightingale
Pray for a remedy from Him for my sickness to heal!

Feb 10 2004.

Notes

Malanadan: of the land of mountains