with bubbles,
not only
the inky night
moves forward
but also the brush strokes of
high winds above
the forest filled with
birds chirp
untouched
unbruised
unagitated
by the blows of
this facemasked event.
Here the skylark
flies through its
chant, even the
tiniest leaf is
endowed with
a touch of sun
rain bucket,
from time to time
fills the frog pond
while my cat
has his tiger-like nap
in the void of
a roof terrace
I toss walnuts
to a red squirrel
then quietly
read a line from
William Carlos Williams
fraidoon warasta
19 may2021
limburg
…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem