A Poem About Expanding Distances

Paths are hot on my trail And eyes...... as always they do...... Behind, far behind Are nailed to apertures in the door. My mom has furrows Criss-crossed on her time-worn face And like a dot sans word Unaware of my own import I am gaoled in the abdomen Of starving books. If one were to look Into sisters' eyes at the moment of parting One would know How deserts are changed into oceans. Do you remember You had said at separation When the dreams of journey Spring forth from lines of the palm To become the fate of my feet Two eyes......as always they do...... Behind, far behind Will be nailed to the apertures in the door. And that moment (you had said) Will be the last link in our contact. (1980, Translated By Dr. Satyapal Anand)