Short Poems

The wild geese returning
Through the misty sky—
Behold, they look like
A letter written

still on my body
a tire tube for floating
I've bought at the store

into plain rubbish
they begin to turn—
fallen blossoms

here's the fish basket—
bindweed flowers
buried underneath

Your verses, Doctor, crawl on gouty feet;
You've made those waters bitter which were sweet;
Your chaos we must grant is truly good;
Like the first chaos 'tis completely mud.

Boldly to turne each leafe, & fixe your sight
Vpon a booke, I sweare t'was Lectring right.

It is other people who have separated
You and me.
Come, my Lord!
Do not dream of listening
To the between-words of people!

the New Year, yet still
that same old winter hat—
my big husband

Where at the last shall my soul find rest?
It is as a bird that from the ship flies forth, and to the ship again comes home.
He who in folly renounces Rama's protection to run after other gods.
His wasteful folly renounces Ganga to go and sink a well.
The bee which has sipped the lotus' nectar, why should it seek the oleander's juice.
O Sur Das, why renounce the Lord, Who is as Kama-Dhenu, and milk a goat?

When on the wane, you are always impatient to wax,
But how so easily do you wane after waxing?
You are full only once in a month's thirty nights:
Man's mind in a lifetime is exactly the same.