Whisper of Desire does not remain as a whisper for long. The poet is often visited by angst and despair. He is angry at her, although he is often civil enough not to spell it out. He is angry at himself, but proud enough to admit it. He wants to accuse her of wantonness, yet he lets it be. He is willing to wait, even when he knows its futility. There are seasons of hope too that shine like the evening sun through the clouds of monsoon. It is an entire universe of unrequited desire that the anthology addresses. There is a verse or two for anybody who has ever loved or ever lived.