Crawling snails

The urge to disappear returns,
The need to puff myself away,
In smoke or tears,
Sitting at the mazar,
Or whirling among fakirs,
On a dusty marble floor,
As one of the crowd,
Among the people of music & dance,
I melt and become one,

But as the snail returns,
So does the pain,
The need to leave,
An ever melting trail,
As one crawls on salt,
Turning to dust,
Or tiny agonizing crystals,
Numbed for eternity,
Till the next thaw,

Strange yet beautiful,
Filled with warmth,
Engulfing, fiery, passionate,
So real it becomes,
That in drunkenness,
Reaching for more,
Discover it was a mirage,
A mirage so beautiful,
Till it shatters,
Hurting, wounding the flesh,
Like shards of glass,

And the wish for death returns.