Recollection is short, fantasy long!
A place where I’d never been born,
must never be born—
On whose behalf
did I go there?
I went with all ten fingers trembling.
With so many kinds of foolishness left back home,
I gazed up toward a few peaks
brilliant at eight thousand meters, their golden blades piled high.
Before that, and after,
I could not help but be an orphan.
I had but one hope:
to stay as far from the Himalayas as humanly possible,
and from the world of troublesome questions.
Yes, that was it.