जहाँ जल गिरता है,

वहां जीवन उत्पन्न होता है

Spring lies desolate.

The velvet – dark ditch

crawls by my side

without reflections.

कवि एक बड़ा सा तोता होता है, जैसे कि मैं

जिसे उसके संरक्षक पालते हैं

कई होते हैं वे

When the gate guard sinks into sleep

You turn back together with the storm

That which ages in the embrace is

The rose of time

My contemporaries like small objects,

dried starfish that have forgotten the sea,

melancholy stopped clocks, postcards

sent from vanished cities,