Mid-Day
The light beats upon me.
I am startled—
A split leaf crackles on the paved floor—
I am anguished—defeated.
A slight wind shakes the seed-pods.
My thoughts are spent
As the black seeds.
My thoughts tear me.
I dread their fever—
I am scattered in its whirl.
I am scattered like
The hot shrivelled seeds.
The shrivelled seeds
Are spilt on the path.
The grass bends with dust.
The grape slips
Under its crackled leaf:
Yet far beyond the spent seed-pods,
And the blackened stalks of mint,
The poplar is bright on the hill,
The poplar spreads out,
Deep-rooted among trees.
O poplar, you are great
Among the hill-stones,
While I perish on the path
Among the crevices of the rocks.