Short Poems

Stern as my conscience, thou seest the points wherein I'm deficient;
Therefore I've always loved thee, as my own conscience I've loved.

The oak tree:
not interested
in cherry blossoms.


Translated by Robert Hass

The noble art of Losing Face
may one day save the Human Race
and turn into eternal merit
what weaker minds would call disgrace.

Water and windmills, greenness, Islets green;--
Willows whose Trunks beside the shadows stood
Of their own higher half, and willowy swamp:--
Farmhouses that at anchor seem'd--in the inland sky
The fog-transfixing Spires--
Water, wide water, greenness and green banks,
And water seen--

The night is dark,
the sky is filled with teeming clouds.
Friend, what can I say to you?
By virtue of many lives, Him I have won.

the night I was going to die

The niche narrows
Hones one thin
Until his bones
Disclose him

My next poem is quite short and it’s about something most of you will recognise. It came out of an experience I had on holiday a couple of years ago. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’m correct in saying that it’s the only poem I’ve ever managed to write during my holidays, if you could have called this a holiday - it bore all the hallmarks of an endurance test.

Lo, how it gleams and glistens in the sun
Like the cheek of a Chesterton.

On your wedding my two hands
will deck you with a necklace;
if my eyes are filled with tears,
I will wipe them with the same hands;
darling, yet the necklace I will deck you with.

[Original: Tomar bibahe; Translation: Mohammad Nurul Huda]