in the forest of life
a hunter kept searching
for a prey to stalk
and salt for a meal or two.
stealthily he moved
afraid of dry leaves underfoot
eyes fixed on a prey.
lo! without warning
the prey's image got blurred.
disappointed he trudged
only to meet a similar fate
home bound he trekked
a man bitter at fate
yet no one promised anything.
I have never said this of anyone's poem before, and I never expected that I ever would. That said, your poem has the quality of a Wallace Stevens poem. You are not just waving the 'hunter' symbol around. Your control of how you use the hunter is remarkable. I will print and keep this one.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Not an easy job! Nice work.