And how does one ask for help? Or plead and not feel
Pity, shame? And does one ever grunt and say what one needs to say?
At some point in the yarn of the time, how does one
Look over one’s shoulder to reconcile,
How does one open a mouth to say
“I am lost. I think” But does one truly think,
Or act on the impulses.
Or calm oneself to ask. Ask!


And “When should I think?” I ask
“soon,” I say, “soon, on some wintery night,
When my windowpanes creak in the cold,
When my steel glass never gets warm,
I might think or ask, how does one not think?
and find a reason to reason with it;
The weary long journey, how it doesn’t end
And seems to start at every corner of the road”
“Perhaps, I shall shave my head
and wash my face with some fragrant soap
or trim my beard to look sharp and address it,
perhaps, soon!”