A little later
All of a sudden, within the poem
A storm arose.

You are on the bank of the Japan sea
I am on the land of this Bangla
In a dusty, grey bamboo grove.

I see, with an anxious, unease look
You are thinking seamlessly
Who am I, poet? What’s my name and address?

I, too, wonder — Aha,
Who am I? Who am I?
In whose name does the day go down?

No answer ever comes
Wind sighs thru to the south,
If I lose, then it’s your great victory.

After a little while
I fathom the destruction
In a storm of poems.