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DIGITAL, BSP

    A man who writes knows too much,
    such spells and fetiches!
    As if erections and congresses and products
    weren't enough; as if machines and galleons
    and wars were never enough.
    With used furniture he makes a tree.
    A writer is essentially a crook.
    Dear love, I am that man.

    A woman who writes feels too much,
    those trances and portents!
    As if cycles and children and islands
    weren't enough; as if mourners and gossips
    and vegetables were never enough.
    She thinks she can warn the stars.
    A writer is essentially a spy.
    Dear love, you are that girl.

ek Kalakaar ki kahani