a plastic bag
whirled by the wind
struggling in mid-air --
a tanka is conceived
at that sight
writing tanka --
four lines sound perfect
yet I struggle
to write a fifth
to perfect my tanka
my anguish
crumbled into a ball
I continue to write
as the wastebasket waits
for one more throw
days slip by
minute by minute
hour after hour --
a tanka is born
yet my life withers
March / April, 2010 issue of Sketchbook
One Man's Maple Moon: Cold Light Tanka by Sonam Chhoki
-
*English Original*
throbbing headache
blinds drawn against the dawn
I picture
in the rise and fall of notes
birds flitting in the cold light
*A Hundred Gou...
