DARKSAKURA: BLACK GARDEN 4
by azsacra
Posted: 27 April 2007 Word Count: 198 |
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BLACK GARDEN 4
a freehaiku
by AZsacra ZARATHUSTRA
English translation by Aidar Ismagilov
you, praying mantis
don't kill this butterfly —
the dew will do it
the saw keeps gnawing —
so silent remain
the trees
the temptation of aroma!
even ordinary flowers
are craving to kill
the berries that are ripe
desire to be poisoned with —
curare
the state of order of the rain!
in every drop is —
chaos
no one is
searching now for —
the perfect hurricane
light dragonflies
in their dreams see fears —
awake them, Terror!
isn’t logical the sequence:
the suicide of flowers follows
the death of cicadas?
the blow of wind!.. The one
dandelion captures
the field
the impossible can happen
for the ashes of the butterfly —
the kill of flare!
the snowflake.
one more snowflake.
one more
snow doesn’t melt…
the willingness of death —
in glow of Spring!
the boughs salute
the death. By throwing up
the leaves turned yellow!
to torture petals there is
the tender touch of
soft caterpillars
in the orchid will not awake
the bumblebee: the sap's
so sweet!
the dust is blown to see
the dead butterfly contemplating
through the glass
a freehaiku
by AZsacra ZARATHUSTRA
English translation by Aidar Ismagilov
you, praying mantis
don't kill this butterfly —
the dew will do it
the saw keeps gnawing —
so silent remain
the trees
the temptation of aroma!
even ordinary flowers
are craving to kill
the berries that are ripe
desire to be poisoned with —
curare
the state of order of the rain!
in every drop is —
chaos
no one is
searching now for —
the perfect hurricane
light dragonflies
in their dreams see fears —
awake them, Terror!
isn’t logical the sequence:
the suicide of flowers follows
the death of cicadas?
the blow of wind!.. The one
dandelion captures
the field
the impossible can happen
for the ashes of the butterfly —
the kill of flare!
the snowflake.
one more snowflake.
one more
snow doesn’t melt…
the willingness of death —
in glow of Spring!
the boughs salute
the death. By throwing up
the leaves turned yellow!
to torture petals there is
the tender touch of
soft caterpillars
in the orchid will not awake
the bumblebee: the sap's
so sweet!
the dust is blown to see
the dead butterfly contemplating
through the glass
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