by Muhammad Shanazar
Numerous hawks, hapless and helpless
Are sitting downcast on the ground
Amid the dry leafless forest,
Discarding the high zone of their flight.
Their eyes are impressionless,
Wings clipped and tails curtailed,
Their claws: the hunting instruments
Cramped and contracted inward.
They are drowsing and nodding,
In a state of oblivion,
As forgetfulness to the ancient history.
Around them is a conflagration
Engulfing the woods,
The agent of autumnal wind assists the blaze,
The circle is belittling at each moment;
But the hawks with the wings clipped
Tails curtailed, contracted claws
Drowsing eyes, nodding heads,
Are waiting for the encroaching doom,
Beneath the murkiness of smoke:
Stretching over the shadow of extinction,
And far above hover the bats and owls,
Challenging the hawks.
Last updated June 22, 2011