This is torture.

Sheer

Sheer torture.

On calm, cold nights

When the winds send chills down my spine

I lie in my bed, safe and quiet

In my satin quilt

Tearing

Weeping

Away from earthly errands

In your quest.

These sudden outbursts of missing you

Yearning for your jaw dropping smile

Craving your soft, feather like hands

To tug the locks falling on my face Behind my ear

And of course

Wishing for that mellifluous voice of yours

The sugary intonation

When you say

"Radha".

I cannot begin to describe, Krishna

I may be a feminist

I may be one strong woman

But moments like these

Make me feel like a nomad, a vagabond

In the quest of her home

Home. Krishna.

My countless requests have gone in vain

This fortitude does me no good at times

And I sit in front of your clay lookalikes

And ask you

To come to me

Once.

And like a little girl who craves chocolates

I crave for one transcendental vision of yours

That will keep me alive for

A thousand more years.

I pant

Throw the quilt away

Fear grips me

My throat parches

I crumble to dust

Dust being a tiny corner

Of my lovelorn heart.

"Where are you!

Where are you,

Krishna?"

Why do you torture me so?

To make me stronger?

I am strong, Krishna

But doesn't a flower survive

Because of its roots?

And right when

Despondence strikes

Stark, limitless horizon I see

Right in front of my eyes

It's funny how on a cold night

A warm caress of zephyr comes rushing in

Whispering in my ears

"I am you, Radha."

And I sleep.

A good night's sleep.