Passing cloudlets, lovely ones,
So puffed up and jubilant.
How you sagely point your dainty finger
Standing on your head,
Haven’t yet trodden on the ground.
Still wet behind the ears,
Wetter still in all your whining,
Here now, gone tomorrow,
A little bit of rain.
Archway of my beginning,
Entrance to my path,
Timeless is your endurance.
How you did welcome me … for once.
And, there, you’ve remained,
Cold, stony, unmoving,
A single milestone I’ve reached—why?
Why come to hate me
When you’ve failed to hate yourself?
Mighty, mighty boulder,
So old, so wise, eternally,
On your lofty shoulders
My footing is found.
Yet, how would you have known
If you haven’t overrated
The relevance of your history?
After sheltering me from the elements,
Will you now obscure my vision too?
Goodbye, O, goodbye.
Farewell to you all.
Thank you for your love;
And thank you for your hate.
Along a grassy path which craves for wear,
I shall lose me in the woods somewhere,
Somewhere in the thick of the undergrowth,
Without a footprint for guidance,
Beyond the fancies of dreamers,
In search of myself.
And exiled I was last weekend, pilgriming solo to the highest summit of our town and finishing, quite dangerously, with a plunge into some wildering, Jurassic valleys at twilight.