Confessions of a Solitarist

1.

Slipping through the half-open door
I crossed over to the other side
and got lost.
I asked there: Am I here?
They said: No, you are not.

Here are his footprints: the Desert said.
And asked: But where is he?

2.

In the south, there is only the sandstorm
and so, I went up north
with the hope
of finding my breath
swimming in the river
that freezes and folds
into a mountain of silver.
I saw myself drifting
becoming water
in the water
and stopped
by the river’s bank

getting transformed
into its eye.

3.

I have been falling
from the trees
that have sprung up
from the footprints
of Ashwatthama
who wanders
in the forests of Girnar.

4.

At long last
I have become
the nineteenth morning
after the War.

5.

Now
when I come to the door again
I find it open:
there is nobody there
to usher me in
and nobody there

to usher me out.

CONFESSIONS OF A SOLITARIST