Saturday, May 7, 2016

Jumagul Suvonova writes

To Willow
 There is no willow,
That I played with its hair, kissed its fringe.

If it is here, I may kneel down,

And I may dream for a long time.

Also I may tell my pains,

It is a symbol for subsistence too.

If you cry or if you pull up,

It never becomes inconvenient.
--tr, Asror Allayarov

Weeping Willow Tree -- Debra Bucci

1 comment:

  1. The Sound of the Trees

    I wonder about the trees.
    Why do we wish to bear
    Forever the noise of these
    More than another noise
    So close to our dwelling place?
    We suffer them by the day
    Till we lose all measure of pace,
    And fixity in our joys,
    And acquire a listening air.
    They are that that talks of going
    But never gets away;
    And that talks no less for knowing,
    As it grows wiser and older,
    That now it means to stay.
    My feet tug at the floor
    And my head sways to my shoulder
    Sometimes when I watch trees sway,
    From the window or the door.
    I shall set forth for somewhere,
    I shall make the reckless choice
    Some day when they are in voice
    And tossing so as to scare
    The white clouds over them on.
    I shall have less to say,
    But I shall be gone.

    -- Robert Frost


Join the conversation! What is your reaction to the post?