A Haibun
The sound of gunshots wakens me on this May Day, my twelfth since emigrating to Canada. I look out the window and see a yellow bird falling from the sky. It flaps then glides, flaps then glides as it descends. Is this a sign that the rest of my life will be spent immobile in this promised land for a chosen people? Suddenly, a twinge in my heart.
'to stay or not to stay...'
maple leaves shimmering
in the breeze
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem