I Promise

‘Will you return


Or is this time the last time

That I touch

Your wings, light as death,

Before you soar


Into the sky?’


‘I will return 


As long as you remember me,

I’ll cross

The endless

Expanse of space,

And sit with you,

And dream – ‘


‘I promise to return!’


‘And if you promise to return,

Then, I will wait

For you


To Christophe M.

(Not) A Good-Bye

Boudhanath, Kathmandu – Walking Away

From me to you — a quiet good-bye:

There is no time for anything else;

You know me, and you know that I can’t

Make speeches, loud but forgettable;


I’ve talked to you for months now and months:

Roaming your streets, taking in your nights,

Getting soaked in your rains, letting in your cold,

Making your time, your rhythm, your prayers – mine;


From me to you – a small good-bye smile;

I have no strength for anything else;

I have been so alive here, I’m tired

Of the joys and pains you’ve showered me with;


I leave you to be somebody else;

I’ll keep you in my heart as you are;

I thank and bless you millions of times,

And hope that this, in spite of all, is not a good-bye


I tried to climb over bleak walls

Of rain,

Swim up cold rivers, whose hearts beat

In clouds


But walls of rain would vanish with

The sun;

And mountain rivers simply left me



I should have tried instead

To cross

The sea of pain within



The Sky Burial

Dark clouds of lead and wrathful winds –

The ever-hungry vultures of the summit –

Have gathered

Around me


With claws of ice they tear though every thing:

My flightless mind, my flesh, immobile,

They rip in pieces

And pieces


And from across the world I know you watch

What you love disappear into the gaping

Mouth of a dream,

My wildest dream


For but an hour turn away, and nothing will be left:

The sacred birds will vanish, their wings – the skies – blood-red;

I am the dying dusk

You’re looking at:


I’ve burned this day,

But many more are yet

To come

The Portrait

I draw my thoughts and feelings

On your face,

Imagining they are

Your own,


And put such words between your lips

As you would never say;

To me

It matters not


That you do not exist

The way I see you:

A book in progress

I complete too soon


An empty canvas, which I over-paint

With meaning,

But dry paint cracks, and you emerge –

The true you I don’t know