My poetry, she thinks, is no more,
She has read just a drop from my ocean, though.
If a splash is more than enough for her,
How shall I drain this oceanic poetry?
Endlessly I am head over heels, but
My poetry seems to turn to dust.
Please, love! be back and churn my heart,
and read my numberless, yet lonely, poetry first.
by Pemba Noru Sherpa