When I Returned
The forest was slumberous and the lake was almost dry.
The rains had all gone on exile
so no one remembered the dance of the seasons.
Our village was ill, she was suffering from backward syndrome.
The living still saddled themselves with keeping the corpses quiet,
the dead were yet to find rest in the people’s memory.
So I began to teach them that letting go is a new form of love.
Our young ones had no love for books; very few took to reading,
the shelves were filled with works which have long gone out of print.
So I built them a new library, taught them to read stars
and to read geometric progress from the lines of their palms.
There were old men still trying to see the robed world
through the gods’ naked eyes.
At the prayer ground,
the women looked up at the…
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