Call on me, for I wait to hear your call, while night selects dreams for the restless night in which I wait for your call.

My lips should keep chanting These phrases of heartache, tell me for how many more insomniac nights? What phrases, you ask? “I love you. I wait for you.”

And the heart has to be distracted with the thought that my sorry state is, perhaps, yours too, on such nights of disunity waiting for unity.

Call for me.

Translated from the Hindustani, approximately