No sound of your arrival, no clue to your departure.
When do you come? When do you leave?
Sometimes in the courtyard . . .
when the tamarind tree
stirs in the wind,
a sprinkling of shadow
stipples the brick walls
and is absorbed,
like water drops hurled
by someone on parched earth.
In the courtyard the sunshine sobs unhurriedly.

In closed rooms . . .
when the flame of the lamp flickers,
a vast silhouette devours me, gulp by gulp.
Eyes stare at me fixedly
from a distance.
When do you come? When do you leave?
You are in my thoughts so many times in a day.