In the thick dust
the hawk’s eye closes:
its reality
is gone.
Mine, behind
a closed eye
lingers on.
I see the image
of the hawk
in the tree
it sits there
still
though dust
and hawk and tree
are gone
to be
of me
changed vividly
still sitting there
with hawk and dust and tree.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
well- expressed poem, well-composed, i like it, thanks for sharing,
Thank you, Shakil!