Untitled - Azam Abidov - poet and translator

***
I came this way
Just to walk along a path
That doesn’t bear your memory.
But then, a drongo on that ashoka tree
Turned into you.
***
I don’t have anything to sing to the nightingales
Nothing to entrust the west wind with;
I just need the shade of my birth-tree
Not there when I reach,
Isn’t the shrine of the sorrowing there?
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