Tell Me My Love

This rain of memories, it comes, tell me, my love,
When sometimes, you whisper, "Call me, my love."

I recollect the rains that lashed at us when he died
In surging crowds, I shouted, "Where are you, my love?"

This parched land has no rains, and then suddenly it comes,
Your love, like rivers, gushes forth wildly, isn't it, my love?

Neruda spoke of love, longing, separation in his poems,
The desire, the sweep, the passion, you had it all, my love.

When Macbeth asked, the Lady gave him a poisoned kiss,
In these plays, we get cleansed, but where are you, my love?

When Roomy asked, Rumi knew that it was you.
Now you plead, please come, please come to me, my love.