In the harlotry of reality,
I sold my dream to a hesitant doubt.
In the indiscretions of subtleties,
I missed the obvious staring at my face.
In the pandemonium of laughter,
I missed the innocence of a tender smile.
In the harmony of incomplete forms,
I missed the chaos of the absolute.
I groped for the sun in the dark,
And missed the kiss of the moonlight.
In the nightsky, ablaze with starry delight,
I missed the agony of blood-red darkness.
But the pulse of the creator,
Still thunders in me.
The first voice that erupted,
Still has my echo.
The Brahma of my beginning
Embraces the Shiva of my destruction.
And from the horizons of the forgotten,
I’ve come back to haunt me.