Where shall I find you, miss?
In desert or in Hebrides
You rule o’er my heart and soul
Not giving me a second of peace.
I needn’t think of you, my dear
For I feel you are always near
I only need to close my eyes
And find you always living there.
The trees, the fields, the wind that blows
The air that I take in through my nose
The water I drink, the songs I sing,
All of them you seem to compose.
-- Sergeant
Epilogue: Written on the train journey back to Kota from Bombay after my IIT counselling in June 1999.
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