Drifting in shadow-song along the shadow-path

That cry of his — ha ha ha —
perhaps I never heard it, so naturally
I made no attempt then to silence him.

Though I lack much knowledge about clocks,
yes, even now I find comfort in time's authority.

I may not have saved the honest poets' huts;
yet certainly, I never launched personal attacks on them,
rather always tried, if only a little, to shield them.

Before deadly, ice-cold terror
I never heard the unbelievably blind click of birth;
but I know I have always tried sincerely
to indulge, quite generously, the madness
of every madman who fell before my eyes.

When lightning's lines flared up one by one
perhaps I didn't see terror lose to authority;
yet yes, when mother stitched her nakshi kantha,
the immeasurable gap in the invisible corner
never escaped my eye, even today.

Whether on dark nights my mind became
too much of a masquerader,
perhaps fell into miscalculation's trap and I never knew;
but yes, though I never wished to masquerade myself,
I learned to shelter all disguises, without reason, within my chest.

The moon's mountain may have tried to defeat me with its distance;
still, I never surrendered... truly! Rather,
bringing the mountain-measurer into imagination,
I wanted to advance a little further.

In melodies born from Chhayānaṭ raga, in this city
ringed by shadows far from the Milky Way,
I was never asked about him... its meaning or unmeanings;
yet through his half-blind and somewhat distorted mirror,
not just him, but from within him, through him,
I searched for myself, pushing a little further ahead!