This lonely evening
where are the stars?
I am a tomb-raider
at the foot of Mount Kailash
Never did I know what is truth
nor what the ancients thought
Some guy blinks on
and there are days and nights
Who did what?
Who did not?
Does that matter anymore
in this hebephrenia
we celebrate as life?
Reason there is for everything
a past in every now
Is there a now?
all is past and and thoughts of what to come
An Egyptian tomb
a long-sleeping mummy
desecrated by fools
treasure-hunters they are called
moths that breathed and died
in a momentary flash
around a stupid evening lamp
And here I sit
musing under a starless sky
an October night
half chill, half desultory warm
indifferent to my moods,
as usual
Where is what I seek
the stupid tomb-raider
and who is the seeker
in this foolish medley
where I am in everything
whether I like it or not
if I just ignore the tomb-raider in me?
So leave me alone please
truant stars, desecrated mummies
past and portents
in a desirable something
that electrifies my nerves
Sorry, whose nerves they are?
There can’t be any creepy nerves
in a non-being that is me
dreamlike, dripping an unknown sweet?
Where has the tomb-raider gone?
Leave a Reply