Like the snake which,
Partly in courage, partly in fear
Flits forward and retreats,
Then
Flits again.
What epic is this? Where
Recoil’s power wrenches
Destruction, worse than strike?
Seasons, these I know.
Even those that are so bitter.
I know them.
But a current that can turn a tide?
I will da-
Which truth?
But I must da-
Whose truth?
If I da-
To what end?
She who conquers, conquers herself?
She who conquers herself, conquers?
She herself conquers, conquers who?
Stay your conch.
I lay these down –
Conviction, courage, choice.
Govinda, I will not fight.
16 March, 2008
