You ask me about that country whose details now escape me,
I don't remember its geography, nothing of its history.
And should I visit it in memory,
It would be as I would a past lover,
After years, for a night, no longer restless with passion,
With no fear of regret.
I have reached that age when one visits the heart merely as a courtesy.
Depending on the reader's mood this poem can be taken to be about manythings -- one's motherland, one's past lives and, indeed, one's pastloves.
The overriding theme of time eroding every landscape holds for themall.
