Category Archives: self-translation


He lingers on, yet not a stranger
To entertain, The Precursor of time
And finales’ countless danger.
One needs a turn albeit on a dime.
It has always been and always will be
Irrelevant all the same, though…
Neither feverish nor chilly
To resort to Ibn Sino.
The wind stirs a tree branch
To let the luminance last
Then a shadow’s cast
Like one below eyelashes, nay –
Under a weeping willow
On a hot summer day.
Pray, it’s premature to miss
Your lips
Untouched by a smiling riddle
Nor the bow
That ravished no fiddle
Or the landscape
Unloved anymore.

April 18, 2011