How the hell are you, I want
to ask but can't—you're dead.
How hard the snow fell,
how slowly it melts.
How to tie a knot big enough
to choke the wild pain.
How to listen carelessly
to words used carefully.
How philosophy handles death:
with great reluctance.
How answers to questions
often contain no answer.
How to wind a watch
so tight time stops.
How silent the trees, how
loud the shots of hunters.
philosophising observations under the light of some deep and tangible thoughts. I admire your art expressed between lines. Rites Ghosh
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
If they are going to make this a song at least make it good.