Watching the dews form paintings in straight lines
Over the fogged windows,
Swept by the convoluted train lines into the valley.
As if the western Ghats have a life of their own.
I saw my desires merge and collapse into a wholesome new.
Only and always to take the form of your beautiful  face.

Some times as my hopes, at some others as my dreams,
And sometimes as distant answers to my longing questions.
But at all times, taking the form of your beautiful face.