The Flow Of Water
by Sohrab Sepehri
Still nestled by springs,
Indulged himself in his azure philosophy
In the delicate indolence of a meadow.
His thoughts flew with the bird.
He breathed with trees.
He was submissive to the poppy's conditions.
Intrepid meanings of the waters
Roared in the depths of his speech.
In the text of the elements
And woke up
In dawning fear.
The strange music of growth
In the frail joints of his joys
And dust settled
On his struggling knees.
His creative fingers,
Idled and got lost
In precise geometrical grief.
(Translated by Ismail Salami)