Like an infant gently handed
from one maiden to another,
slow and soft it descends,
soothing every eye that sees.
White and soft and silent;
A young Buddha in flight;
A virgin slice of paper:
A floating petal of Peace?
Minutes before, it dangled,
on a screaming dove's bod,
being severed and scattered
by a potent claw of a Hawk.
Torn, orphaned and banished;
An unknown child in coma;
A poem stripped of words:
A floating wound of War?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
10 for this lovely poem with nice metaphor.