One day eight years ago
it was heard that they had taken him
to the dissecting room;
yesterday evening it was, in the darkness of the Phalgun night
when the fifth moon sank
his desire was to die.
His wife lay beside him, his child too;
he had love, and hopein the moonlightand then he saw
what spirit? Why did he wake from sleep?
Or perhaps sleep was a long time comingand now he lies
in sleep, in the dissecting room.
Perhaps he wanted this sleep.
Like a plague rat, face smeared with bloody foam,
neck twisted, in a lightless hole he sleeps now;
he will awake no more.
;He will awake no more
the thick pain of awakening
incessantlythe constant burden
he will bear no moreinto unprecedented darkness
as if beside his window
a few silences were come
like a camels neck.