Somewhere in journey, near the banyan tree,
I meet this perfect stranger in color headgear,
That sits heavily on his head, his legs swathed
In silk dress-cloth, a torso decked in camphor.
I see him come riding on horse, sword in hand.
I decide to join him aloft, in a journey beyond.
When I look back in the hoof-dust of his horse,
My village becomes mere blur in the blue hills.