Pond
Amidst a fair pond, peacefully floats a swan. Wings all white, immaculate plumage, limpid are its eyes. Quite like a cypress its slender neck stands; it regards itself in the water. Serenely it floats on the surface bright and diaphanous, without a ripple. On the bank of the sacred pond, reeds all around in great number grow. Their delicate flowers, their svelte leaves, are admirable to contemplate. It floats, the solitary swan, and in the silence it sings, awaiting its mate. The latter is gone borne off by an eagle, and there is no companion but ardent desire. On the bank of the silent pond, haggard a swan painfully moves. Wings broken, bones shattered, thus concludes the destiny of a swan. |
Rustam Effendi
tr. after Damais