In the trees of the dead I’ve hung a white dove
You can call for Peace now!
Because I’ll tie on the body of fallen leaves a mystic om
Magic realism beckons this day.
Lonelier than this land are manuscripts of innocence.
Cleansed, they ascend on clouds riding on unfamiliar rugs
Their dreams of the dead hang on boughs where doves perch
My peace that dangles so, oh peace that I crave,
Fairy tales I write as I traverse tumultuous realms!
Translated by Fakrul Alam