Thursday, June 8, 2017

Umid Al writes


The earth is deprived of flower smells, 
It never crumbles as – the transparent stone. 
Blue color senses are a mirage, 
Not like the heart is tolerant.  

Your skies are scattered, 
The moon is a piece of rag. 
Stars are expelled from there, 
Placed in a dirty pan.

Feelings… nap and nap, 
You don’t notice as though far away. 
Lastly, day and night changes, 
Evening dawns, morning becomes sunset. 

 --tr. Asror Allayarov from "The Gate Opened by Angels"
 Image result for moon rag painting
Me and the Moon -- Arthur Dove

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