• The Thimble


Intimately, the thimble

            Embraces the tip

                        of the finger


 Protecting the soft flesh

 From the sharp needle,

 And easing the needle's passage


  The Thimble

             -- OH My ! --

                    Must be deeply in love!



  • The Idol



It fell down from the heavens,

Landing on this very earth

Like this very rock,

Like this very old sock,

Like this very ballpoint,

                  Run out of ink.


It fell

From high on,

Shorn of light,

Shorn of mystery,

Open, wide open



            A mere common place.



  • Nothing


The empty vase

Standing on the shelf

Casting a shadow

          In blue

          In pure blue,

Standing just as upright

                    Beside the vase.



  • Love


In its full red glory

          The rose

          Grows on the stem.


The red is not

Some gardener’s gift

          To the rose.

And the claws of no harsh wind

Can strip the bloom

                      Of its blush.


Red, simply, the flower grows …



  • Flight


The bird belongs

To the air

The air to the bird.

The air

          Never wanted

To own the bird,

          The bird never wanted

          To tie down the air.


The bird belongs

                To the air

The air

To the bird.


And to them belongs

          The arch of flight

          That never breaks.



  • Eventuality

The Hall of Mirrors
Floats in the light of the chandelier.

The walls are washed
With rose water.

The old slabs of the marble floor
Shine with new polish.

Borne on the breeze
There is an echo of something rustling.

A host of blind moles
Are in slow time nibbling away
At the roots of the hall columns,
Long standing.

  • A Message

Nobody is watching
Come here
Close to this wall
  And look into the Cracks,
  There between those bricks:
                        A note.

A Certain Feeling

Come with me
To the wide expanse of the wheat grain

Come with me
To the private enclosure of the morning dew.

By your side
Night retreats from me, dawdling
Like a drop of ooze
Working  its way
Down the cold window pane
                     Of a warm house.

  • In Technicolor

When the cockroaches
The “delicious calm” of my privacy
The little butterflies of my
                “poetic sensibility”
Fly out, as it were,
On the beam of light
Coming in through the cracks
Of the room’s doors and windows
To the far reaches
Of an uncharted black hole.
All along the night
Like a child who knows
It will never again
Find that peculiar peddler of oranges,
I sit aghast,
Ashamed of the sheet of paper
Gone pale in the boredom of waiting,
Calling the cockroaches
All sorts of names
Legitimate and illegitimate.

I then dart into a safe corner
Pretending I never saw the sight
                        of cockroaches.
And thinking of the colorful wings
              Of my “poem-butterflies”
Flying far away
Over open plains.

  • Being

Prostrated at your feet
Lies the great geography
          Of great Being
          With its dark blue rivers,
          Light green valleys
          Soft brown hills,
          Roaring fresh waterfalls
          In the heart of the forest.

The geography of Great Being
Lies behind that door
          That very door
          That is waiting in silence.

  • The Rock's Robe

The large rock
Is clad in a robe of hot sunshine.

In the cool of the night
The heat
          Flows out
          From the heart of the rock.

Bare rock
          Is sheer nonsense.

  • The New Birth

The snake
Sheds its skin
And slides away.

The wind
Shakes the thorn bushes
And the empty dry skin
Is left to roll
From one bush to another.

The news of the new birth
Through the desert …

  • Red and Green

The ripe cherries glow a ruby red,
The leaves a gorgeous green
                  In the midday sun.

Where is that bluish bough?
The bare bough?
The one any moment, you said,                              
Shall break
Under the whipping of the wind;                            
Under the hammering rainfall;
Under the cold weight of the snow
           on its bare shoulders.

That dry bough that, you said,
Ever the crow does not deign to perch on?

Rocking cradles of concealed little stones,
Amidst shiny green drapes,
The cherries hang
  from tall twigs.
But what of that bough?
The lone bough?

In the late spring midday sun
The cherries
Glow red ...

  • Situation Red

The siren is nothing much.
It's a long whistle
  Shot through the air
  And then cut short.

The siren
Repeats a nonsensical message
  -- air raid is on! --

It's, however,
Anything much.

It is a long whistle
A game of Russian roulette
  The revolver is fired.

  • You and I


You are like the night!
Like this very night
Covering its body
In a black robe.

  To hide its suns
  To hide its rainbows
  To hide its large juicy apple.

I am like time!
Like this very present time
That caresses the body of the night
  The buttons of its robe
                        by one
                           by one ....

  • Empty and Full

There’s nothing left
          In the basket.

Some dry flakes
          Of garlic shell
          Lie in the garbage bin.

A large pot of thick gruel
Sits on the table.

  • Rain and Tea

With its heavy drops
The Rain
  Is drumming on the umbrella.

The gutter overflowing
- muddy –
Filling the shoes
And stinging the toes.
A dog barking.

On the burning stove
The kettle
      With boiling water
And the scent of tea,
            Freshly brewed,
Roaming on the window pane.

  • Washed Clean

The teapot
Carries not a single speck of dust.

Washed clean,
Without a speck of dust,
Clean and empty,
The teapot
Sits in the cabinet.

  • The Verdict

In his absence,
Little toy flags fly
   In their hundreds of thousands
And little stars show on bent shoulders.
Out-of-tune songs of victory
Shall now fall on the earth
       In their hundreds of thousands.

It was no more than one moment,
                             Was it?
Just one moment.
A shouted word
And a universe
          Of nothingness …

  • The Unatainable

I am
I am not.
Such is the law of Love.
So unattainable that,
    With all the power of your
               pure intelligent,
You never could explain its principle.

But explaining principles
Is the pastime of philosophers,
                     In whose affairs
I Would not care to interfere.

The mere fact
That my night blooms into dawn
With the desire that you be
                    still there.
Is the glowing Law of Love:
Too simple
        Ever to be absorbed
Any field of pure intellect.

  • Flower Failed

Disregarded by the rain
And deserted by the river,
It grew up a savage
Defecting its own body
With and outgrowth of spiky thorns
           Vicious and poisonous.

The carnivorous plant of the
                   saline prairie
It would have been
Just a flower,
Had it but known the rain
Had it but seen the river.

  • Flower Failed

Disregarded by the rain
And deserted by the river,
It grew up a savage
Defecting its own body
With and outgrowth of spiky thorns
              Vicious and poisonous.

The carnivorous plant of the
                   saline prairie
It would have been
Just a flower,
Had it but known the rain
Had it but seen the river.

  • Expression

It was not at all possible to say
                      " I love you"
 Yet I did.
 I said
" Do not forget your keys"
"The steps are slippery.'
 "You must be careful."
 "Wait for the red light
                    to turn green ..."      

  • Other Than Everything

All cats are gray in the dark,
And so are all bushes and
                    all colunms.
In the gyay worlds looking alike
                    we recognised
                       each other
By the sound of each other's footsteps
And by the movement of each other's hands
                            which always,
Looked among the souls
Looking for each other.

  • Eternal

The days have gone
The nights have gone
The tree remains
Taller the tree
Housing the sunlit day
        and the moonlit night
In its new leaves ...

  • Intetion

So numerous
Are your names
As many as my teeth
Who have pronounced your name
And in every song
Have they just found
The ups and downs of their own voice
I have called myself
In everyone
          of your
             numerous names ...

  • The Sound

The  earth quake in a dream
Moves not a thing,
Not even a small feather.

The fire in a dream
Burns not a thing,
Not even a slender match stick.

I would close my eyes
And I would sleep and sleep
were it not for the sound of your footsteps
coming from the ally.

  • New Page

It was not disclosed at all,
           This page of history.
This page of our history,
         Before the world's eyes.

Because my love,
We were writing this page
In the darkest nights
With the unseen quills of love.

And line by line we were carving our kisses
Against  our meaningless differences
On the rock of life.

Kiss by Kiss, we've carved;
The most comprehensible and luminous

                                                    words of being
On stones, bricks, rocks …

Many eyes are watching us,
They observe and believe,
Love hands holding love hands.
Streams of Love tears flowing,
And our love glows,
Like hot bodies holding each other
In an ice cold dark winter.

They believe humanity roots in humanity
As so, we did.

My love,
    We live,
        To eternity
             Until we are




Some of Sima's Translated Poems