Perhaps

Perhaps something in my being was destined for you 

But you denied your karma's sweet fruit 

And run in circles enticing you with invisible kama's arrows.

Perhaps I love you so I can worship, uninhibited

But you deserted your true nature

And I am yet to learn to soothe desires with prayers

Perhaps my love is simply life in its starkest, most primordial form 

But you are yet to be born

And I knock out deep pockets of hardened clay to sprout the ever new? 

Perhaps love like life rushes into death headlong

But you are Sita, his material world. 

I am his hanuman, and can hold him and his Sita too 

Perhaps I can tear my heart apart to make that space

And you are my space, life's deep pockets of hardened clay into which

I climb every moment without you?