The Shadow Sura

"The one who has no
shadow within
No shadow to withdraw to
from the company of people
No shadow, no shade, no secret spring
quietly bubbling
No spring whose water heals
the spirit from fever

is helpless in the desert,
blinded by the sun,
doomed to take for real
every mirage,
and the desert sand forever
changing shape,
the city disappeared from maps
remaining as far away

The one who has no
shadow within
No shadow to withdraw to
from the company of people
No shadow, no shade, no secret spring
quietly bubbling
No spring whose water heals
the spirit from fever

Unhappy who has no shadow within"

In the wee interview in the end, he says - paraphrased: "This is madness, of course [writing poetry]… It's a consoling thing to remember, once you've flung something, a few verses, out onto their own orbit, in a way they remain there, whether you remember them or not. When you've done something and meant it for real… Poetry, in its way, has no season, no time, no autumn. They are there, if they are to be, to exist, at all. An organismic thing,which you just sometimes have to blow new life into."

He lived fast, died young, made many headlines due to his lifestyle, but I love his poetry and am currently reading his biography. It is a shame he is not translated into English - this effort is mine, and is here just to give someone who expressed interest a tiny taster.