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I want

to do with you

what spring does

with the cherry trees.

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,

Poets

The old man sipping coffee

in St.-Lazare, who reminds you of someone.

Faces flashing by

in local trains—

the happy faces of travelers headed perhaps

for a splendid ball, or a beheading.

 

An amber glow over the village

And all sounds in slow flight.

A dog’s barking is a hieroglyph

painted in the air above the garden