Short Poems

I like to wash,
the dust of this world
In the droplets of dew.

I know you little, I love you lots,
my love for you could fill ten pots,
fifteen buckets, sixteen cans,
three teacups, and four dishpans.

I know a man
who photographed the view he saw
from the window of the room where he made love
and not the face of the woman he loved there.


Translated by Chana Bloch

Jeg er et lille venligt Minde,
Og holder for min største Lykke,
Naar fra dit Øielaag, Veninde,
Jeg tør en hellig Taare trykke -

I heard her whisper once
a breath so soft it tickled
a dream that slipped away

I hear a river thro' the valley wander
Whose water runs, the song alone remaining.
A rainbow stands and summer passes under.

I have yet to tie sprayed strands of Present's tale;
I have yet to hear the sound of the nearing Future;
O Time! Do halt a while allowing me to pick up
The colourful lost memories from a corner of my heart.

I have to suffer the consequence
of whatever I do,
even if I work for others' gain.
But if, with mind from attachment free,
I dedicate all works to God,
It will be well for me wherever I be,
here and hereafter.

I have three loves who are all most dear.
Each one has cost me many a tear.
The one who is dead yet lives in me.
I were too poor had I less than three.

I have seen almost all the possible Troubles in my life,
The last one that I have to face is the Death.