If you are the sun of my life—radiant, warm, vivacious, and vehement—why then does this loneliness eclipse me again? If you are the book of my life, the chapters filled with tears and joy, why does my existence still seem to lack a moral? If you are the song of my life, each note brimming with love and merriment, why does my life fail to play that tune once more?
If you are an estuary and I am the edge, why does this thirst make me feel so deserted? If I am a free spirit, and you a fairy from an elfin world, why do I leave behind the realities and fall prey to illusions once again? If you are the sky and I am the night, why do you reveal your secrets only to leave me without stars?
If you are the first ray of light and I am the first shower of the monsoon, why does our meeting leave no trace of a rainbow? If you are the landscape, and I the veil, and life the map, why does the bridge of my love fail to cross the chasm that separates us?
If I am the king of my castle, reigning over the chambers of loneliness, why does the sound of your laughter defeat me so easily? If silence fills my grave and agony dies in the dark, why do my cries remain inaudible, lost along the paths of my existence?
If I am a body without a soul, a reincarnation of broken dreams, why, tell me, why do your thoughts slay me again, as if I am nothing but dust in the wind?