Do you remember the McLeod Ganj detritus
Somehow like memories of the deceased
Both of us surfing a nervous breakdown
Playing out of our moidered skins
Me feeding mossies and you bed bugs
And in responding to each others extremes
No time to tend other wounds
Or exchange the currency of remembrances
At manipulative rates for questionable boons
The hardship and dedication of those days
May have hardened us on the path
To the world our dour tribute paid
Your practice as a bolshy night wind
My study as a default digging in
I see it now, as usual, years too late
And still the wincing riddle
All that solidarity
In the swirling eddy of our dual worlds' world
Were we actually skirting love
Or was it craven duty trumping love?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem