In the intimidating proximity of shadows
You want to retreat
Into the very sensations of the body
From which you had wished to escape.
But the vanishing road escarpment,
The artifice of colonial history,
Leaves you somewhat disembodied
And agitated as you reach
The Ascension burial ground.
Looking at the stone slab
Under which Wittgenstein lies,
You wonder if logic and mathematics
Have any foundation? And if they do,
Then where does truth lie?
Surprised by the body and mind dichotomy
You transfigure places,
You transmute ideologies,
You create an incorporeal world
For the spirit of things to come.