A shadow
Dressed in coarse silk
A silhouette
Brings back memories of silence
It remains
No more than a memory of history
A ghostly presence
Appearing through the earliest of dawn
A memory
Of wandering through holy villages.
An abstract fantasy
Driven by attraction of what is hardly a subject
Grafted on fabrics
With which others have already wrapped their fascinations
A pleated representation
Folds itself from within
It reflects
mirrors
doubles
repeats itself
before it even gets to itself
A reference to nothing
Returning to its own motion
Cutting itself off
And spreading in all directions