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Poems by Papa Osmubal
Dew
the night brings brilliant jewels
and sacred eyes that it showers
on the trees and grasses
they are now silent black cats
gazing at the sky
they are now brothers
to the sky:
like the sky
they have mysterious gaze
and they blink with fire
they are now fireflies
devoid of wings
Twilight
the sun shut
its eye
the spiders are now busy
cladding the grasses
with cobwebs
while the paddy fields
are slowly being veiled
with black pall
Twilight
trees folded their leaves
paying no heed to the disturbing
crawl of the spiders
mouths tightly closed
the lizards came down
from the walls and ceilings
so that nobody
will be annoyed
by their vespers
Landscape
Morning, and the dew
clinging on leaves and grass
slowly melts down and drips off
to flow to follow the rivers
to take the long journey
of finding and assuming a new form.
A drop of dew, like snow, is an eye
with a gaze fixed to the future, its future.
Each drop is an eye
because each has its own sun.
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