What’s absent in the picture counts
as much as what is present and portrayed.
Like unvoiced words we can’t pronounce,
its lasting after-image does not fade,
but lingers, echo of a murmur
whose source is so obscure you start to wonder,
“Does it belong to terra firma,
or heaven, like the lightning after thunder? ”
What’s missing may leave traces after
the fading image of the photograph
has disappeared, like sounds of laughter
recalled when we are sad though we can’t laugh.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem