_Voice_
The hidden mystery of life, wrenched away by me, bewails its torn
ties. To get fire from a tree you have to burn it. Nandini, there is
fire within you too, red fire. One day I shall burn you and extract
that also.
_Nandini_
Oh, you are cruel!
_Voice_
I must either gather or scatter. I can feel no pity for what I do not
get. Breaking is a fierce kind of getting.
_Nandini_
But why thrust out your clenched fist like that?
_Voice_
Here, I take away my fist. Now fly, as the dove flies from the shadow
of a hawk.
_Nandini_
Very well, I will go, and not vex you any more.
_Voice_
Here, listen, come back, Nandini!
_Nandini_
What is it?
_Voice_
On your face, there is the play of life in your eyes and lips; at
the back of you flows your black hair, the silent fall of death.
The other day when my hands sank into it they felt the soft calm of
dying. I long to sleep with my face hidden inside those thick black
clusters. You don’t know how tired I am!
_Nandini_
Don’t you ever sleep?
_Voice_