Hunting for a Self

If it wasn’t enough
The dogs decided to hold an opera
Howling away at the dead of the night
They brought the wind as an audience with them
The lifeless forms of the moths
Fluttered as if to write
A new story – where they merged with the light

The tent flapped
What was the noise that came from beyond?
Someone had called out her name
Such a familiar voice
Such a familiar name…

Scores of tents
East to west
North to south
Logs of woods carried on shoulders
New arrivals
New tents
New ten-ants

Time had set out on a journey
There were no followers this time
Those who had once followed
sat on the grains of time hollow-eyed
Trying to search for their versions

Shall I set foot on that ground that ceases to be mine?

Stories that ran through empty rooms
Picking up readers as they vaporised

Who will look for me?

These stories that held me together
Flesh and bone have now reduced me to ashes
I live in those ashes
Searching for a familiar voice

That familiar name…