So these are the Himalayas.
Mountains racing to the moon.
The moment of their start recorded
on the startling, ripped canvas of the sky.
Holes punched in a desert of clouds.
Thrust into nothing.
Echo — a white mute.
Quiet.
Yeti, down there we’ve got Wednesday,
bread and alphabets.
Two times two is four.
Roses are red there,
and violets are blue. Baca lebih lanjut
A drop of water fell on my hand,
drawn from the Ganges and the Nile,
from hoarfrost ascended to heaven off a seal’s whiskers,
from jugs broken in the cities of Ys and Tyre.
On my index finger
the Caspian Sea isn’t landlocked,
and the Pacific is the Rudawa’s meek tributary,
the same stream that floated in a little cloud over Paris Baca lebih lanjut
To be a boxer, or not to be there
at all. O Muse, where are our teeming crowds?
Twelve people in the room, eight seats to spare —
it’s time to start this cultural affair.
Half came inside because it started raining,
the rest are relatives. O Muse. Baca lebih lanjut
This is what I see in my dreams about final exams:
two monkeys, chained to the floor, sit on the windowsill,
the sky behind them flutters,
the sea is taking its bath.
The exam is History of Mankind.
I stammer and hedge. Baca lebih lanjut
We treat each other with exceeding courtesy;
we say, it’s great to see you after all these years.
Our tigers drink milk.
Our hawks tread the ground.
Our sharks have all drowned.
Our wolves yawn beyond the open cage. Baca lebih lanjut
Here are plates but no appetite.
And wedding rings, but the requited love
has been gone now for some three hundred years.
Here’s a fan — where is the maiden’s blush?
Here are swords — where is the ire?
Nor will the lute sound at the twilight hour. Baca lebih lanjut
