“We met at the railway station or a bus-stop,
Or in that old church, on a Sunday Morning,
Early in the morning,
Late in the evening;
You ran behind the bus I took,
That old bus, with rusted stairs;
You jumped over the back stairs,
Watching me, from the back-window panes;
Or we met in those dark nights of my village,
Where I could not see your face;
Neither could you see mine,
You were the same stranger,
I smiled back, coming out of an ATM machine,
You were the same guy, who laughed aloud,
While watching me,dancing alone in rains;
It was you, who lit that cigarette,
On a cold evening, and I made a face,
You, then squashed it against your foot,
Seeing me, smiling back to you;
You kissed me, in your poems,
You painted my soul, on the walls of your room,
You heard my voice, with closed eyes,
You dreamed about me, with open eyes;
It was you, whom I wanted to see,
Waking up in the morning,
Or before closing my eyes, in the night;
You heard me, laughing like crazy,
And, crying like an insane too,
You saw the most beautiful of me;
And the ugliest of me too;
You missed me,
Around and inside you,
I felt you,
Around and inside me;
We fought hard like friends,
We fell in love like two teenagers and their first love,
We supported each other like an old couple,
And, we shared little moments like a newlywed.
We have almost lived a life with each other
And, still you say, we need to meet once.”