*

River entwined in soul and dream, river that is set afar over generation
after generation of continents and oceans, river connected to me by the
umbilical cord of mother tongue and native land—

*

I dream of you being hidden amidst clouds and mountains, surging and
turbulent, whereas in fact you are quiet and level.

*

I dream of others writing poems about you, the haunting beauty of those
verses makes me feel you are a stranger and I am inferior, whereas in fact they
are written by none other than me.

*

Perhaps it is the opposite, I have never truly known you in your entirety,
until I have dreamt of you and of those poems about you.

*

Of your origins and your destination, have I ever truly plumbed their
depths?

*

But my love for you is beyond question, you flow inside my body and
blood.

*

When I open my mouth to speak, I speak of you, when I am silent, I am
silent about you, we merge into each other in ecstasy and pain.

*

And so I wonder if it was you and not me who had left, otherwise why
would I still have such vivid daily memories imprinted on my chest: childhood
mornings and noons, nameless and melancholy dusks and dark nights?

*

Perhaps it is you who has dreamt of me and all of my adventures, but
you are not taken aback, because you had dreamt thousands upon thousands of
me repeating the same fate, and then fading away—

*

And then you fade away too, because there shall be no one like me again,
like this, laughing, running, dreaming of you—