By Mangalesh Dabral

If you were to return home old, a lost forgotten child, your mother, father, relatives recognize the ‘you’ of your childhood. Somewhere around your true love, combing the hair of your unborn child would be spreading the night of lust like a sheet. If you go to the jungle, go as a tree, not as a hunter. A taller tree will hide you beneath itself. A slight dust rises from your stroll and shines for long in the sun. From where you shake off your leaves, a breeze starts to flow. There might be preserved a story in whose ruins one can live. Rain will pull you out; snow will turn you back. For some distance,it is good to follow things you do not understand. You can enter into those broken mirrors that are lost in their own memories. There you might see a dream, or something blurred will be born inside you, and you find that moment; the one you were that moment, the one that did not remain after it.

 Translation from original hindi poem Waapsi  by Robert Hueckstedt. The original poem appeared in the  collection 
Kavi Ne Kaha (2010) by the poet.

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