Who is the one drawing suns and moons, serpents and lotuses, seas of stars on a dead leaf of the mother tree?
Who is the ghost of last night who received a song, came out of her shadow and danced in unholy corners of the old house?
Who is the one who left with loud bangs of footsteps on wood earth waking me up to a bedside of fallen leaves, my limbs enveloped by the roots of the deep under worlds?
I have woken up mourning and grieving over ill fortune of all my ghosts and shadows .
I have also woken up with sun in my hand, my pen painting other worlds unknown.
Invisible, invisible I am.
My spark is a painting on a dead leaf.
My fate is the eye blinded by the golden light of an ancient sun.
VPaliwal
