Might it just be me, to flames she doth consign
Might it mote be she, shall stars she doth align
Shall it be inscribed, or shall it be enshrined
Shall my soul all next to her, be hopelessly entwined
Lest my seed find purchase, lest her soul fertile
Lest her soil be barren, lest my pain futile
Might she may be game, to let me her share borrow
Maybe for her name, I'd live off half her sorrow
Might it be foretold, that we were just not meanta
Maybe in my body, that she is my placenta
- by Arunabh Das
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