Sea eagle

A sea eagle takes wing

at twilight

between the orange and the red

of the setting sun,

headed for its nest.

Does it know as well

that the call of love

isn’t impeded by the fog

beclouding the dawn?

Its cry echoes sinister,

very slowly

it comes near, over a point

of white coral

and is better visible.

Tired and sweating, this time

it won’t have the strength

but the hurricane won’t relent

and carries it out to sea.

The sea eagle plummets

into the blue water, sinks

and won’t be seen again.

Its nest on the gray mountaintop

will be empty.

One by one they’ll fall, carcasses,

to the ground, its little ones

voiceless.

Only a dog

this evening growls and bays at the moon

round and lone.

Its voice floats

down to the shore.

When all is

silent again

a fisherman says:

“A dog howling at death!”

Asrul Sani
tr. after Damais