an old minaret sparkling in solarized snow is empty.
fan palm trees wave and dropp their yellow leaves.
the bleached sky sinks for good into ground unhealthy.
the way home through mountains 's loosing forever in mists.
a tailed cloud is nearby us - one or two kilometers away
stains of shades are absorbed into asphalt - it's yours it is mine
cries a sonorous summer calm: now? why now - these days?
temple ruins are carried by flavovirent wind like a lime
a limit of death and life. the watercolor paint strokes of two.
the book is closed. the seal. you and me haven't had time
Thanks a lot to PS for his lessons of japanese poetry which influenced much to the creation of this poor poem http: //stihi.ru/2012/02/14/3089
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem