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It was with a heavy heart that I picked up my pen to write down for the last time, in my journal and on my last last day in Bombay. Pitter patter. Pitter patter.Pitter patter came the steady drum beat of rain on the corrugated iron sheets that covered the roof. It was a romantic cozy feeling as I watched her sleeping on the king size mahogany bed oblivious to the torrential rainfall with her right hand flung across my bare chest. The thunder and lightning only added to the romance of it all.

I had told her that my time to leave had come but she had not taken it quite as stoically as I would have wished. She seemed to think that I was merely going back for a visit to the States and then return back to her.

"Until you return to my arms, my heart will know no peace and joy will be far from me. As you go, you take away the laughter in my soul. So hasten and return quickly!" she said to me that evening before she fell asleep. She had a funny way with words.

She was a beautiful sight to behold. Her oriental features were enchanting and filled me with joy, with rapture and an enduring sense of fulfillment.

"And here's my hand, my trusted friend," she said to me offering her lovely manicured right hand. "In your language you say take hand in marriage? I give you my hand so too in trust, companionship and marriage if you desire." I was at loss for words. Her feelings for me had never been in doubt. But their depths often amazed me. For the things most dear to you are those you often take for granted. She broke into her tribal song and put a mark with native white chalk on my forehead.

"What is that for?" I asked her

"The song? It is my love song to the morn..." she began

"Not the song, the chalk mark" I said.

"It is for your safe trip and return. It is a prayer chalk for protection. I do not know how I will cope with the empty room, the forest choir of cicadas as they sing of my lonelines and despair while you are gone."

More like a poem, though:

The empty room, the forest choir are all I have until you return to my arms. With joy, with rapture, a knock on the door. And sweet is the night in autumn mild because you are here. There came the pitter patter, pitter patter of the rain on the roof and the thunder and lightning only added to the romance of it all.

It is my love song to the morn.

And here's my hand my trusted friend.

The thunder & lightning only added to the romance of it all, as I said to myself, "that cowgirl is mine....ALL mine."

She looked adoringly into my eyes and said,"I will wait until you return to my arms!"

I responded with joy, with rapture!

I listen now to the results of that passionate union:

Pitter patter. Pitter patter.

The sound of tiny feet as they pitty-pitty-patter across the living room floor.

"It is my love song to the morn" (Or, "Gee I'm glad that looong night's over - it had its moments but I'm left feeling tired and worn")

Pitter patter. Pitter patter. Back and forth that darn mouse ran, all night long.

Scitter scatter. Scitter scatter. Back and forth thoughts of catching it went, until I heard this song:

"That cowgirl is mine...ALL mine" (sung to the tune of "That Girl Is Mine" by my toddler)

Well it made me laugh, and almost forget the mouse, did my fine warbler.

With joy, with rapture, I gathered him close and danced about the room

Until that darn mouse bit my toe, at which time I grabbed the nearest broom!

My toddler was confused - I could just see him thinking I was nuts,

With a shrug and an "until you return to my arms" expression on his face, I almost busted a gut.

It was dead quiet, no mouse in sight,

My son asleep and sweet is the night

in autumn mild, the empty room, the forest choir

all that could be heard, situation no longer dire.

"Until you return to my arms a wiggledy-wort," I thought as I carried him to bed,

"It's a wonderful thing to snuggle instead."

For the things most dear to you,

(like sons and beautiful evenings) can be disrupted when just life and wild mice ensue!

The thunder and lightning only added to the romance of it all.

The peace and quiet and natural charm, ya'll

Was enough to imagine my dear husby

And wish he was here, with me.

Pitter patter, lickety split,

The sound of those feet reminding me of being bit.

I swear I chased that mouse round and round

Until next thing I know, my husby was waking me with a frown.

"It was the mouse again," I explained, giving a stretch.

"I've wrenched my back again too, I confess."

My husby clucked and bussed my cheek as I tried to unbend,

"And here's my hand, my trusted friend."

Well even ad dear husby helped me up,

That silly mouse continued to press his luck.

Quick enough my husby had him caught and out of the house

While I spent all night trying, in five minutes he'd caught the little louse!!

I didn't mind at all very soon you see

As my husby caught me close, kissing me

And as we adjourned to the bedroom I forgot to be tired

Instead feeling romantic again and almost wired...

Love Poem

by Ink

[With joy, with rapture] I will wait for you

[Until you return to my arms]

[For the things most dear to you], my love

Are great delight of these charms

[And sweet is the night in the autumn mild]

When you set my heart afire

The floating skies above us drift

In [the empty room -- the forest choir]

[And here' my hand, my trusted friend]

[It is my love song to the morn]

When we shall be together again

And our day has been re-born

I know that I can, but I just don't have time right at this moment.