eclogue..

Whatever you think of me
Is not what I am

What I know of myself
Is not what I am

I am
an outsider settled in me
in a formless form.
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What is that where
death comes from and life goes to

is it beyond all the sources of light
or somewhere
beside the blue path of the sky

may be
it is nowhere
or it is always here
by my wayside
ready to separate me from me.
___________________________________________

Through
That blue stitch of infinity

the abstract is
revealed to human

the way it looks
is not always the way
it looks.
___________________________________________

Dusk deepened
and
mist was formed

a soft and purple mist
like a vaporous amethyst

like a face
whitened in the mist
the dawn rose

variegated sunlight
seeped through the dense trees

not clear
if there was more brightness in sun
or more purpleness in mist

eventually they commingled
to form
a purple haze.
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