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