The Union
Ubaidullah Pandit My feet stand beneath hers, My hands are over her loins. Her bosom meets our hearts, My lips lie upon hers. Her warmth transfers, Coldness in me still remains. Poor heart of mine pulsates, It seems the first cycle begins. Out of shyness she smiles, Out of passion she says, I feel being in the valley of Eros, Let's make this the best of unions.