1.  It takes me back to a frosty January. I drove into a dome of milk-white mist That spread out forever into space. The lonesome road is its own Universe; Passing along closed-up towns, And cold, silent streets, Mild traffic and minimarts. Along I drove, Suffering In thought and deed. 2. Too little snow had fallen in the village. Patches no thicker than the sole of a boot, Frozen up and sealed...

1. A hint from a friend   I gazed out of the window on a late March morning:   It was 5 o’clock. Pitch black outside. A starry sky and stilled silent street. As if it were 11 in the evening. The dawn seemed so far away. If we latch on to this, we will be late; And rush about when the sun rises. Miss out on many things. Be guided by the bird’s song. It sings: Morning is coming!    2. All...

1. The flowers on the office window sill; Ornaments of beauty and objects of care, Small totems in green with occasional bloom, Witnesses of the withering of workers And interchanging of desks. With their backs turned to all of this Their flower eyes fixed on the sun. 2. Observe the tree tops. Frisky tips that mark The sky-forest boarder. First, they confess to the wind, Bending with its whims. They...