Water

    Water
    Let's not muddy the brook;
    Perhaps a pigeon is drinking water at a distance,
    Or perhaps in a farther thicket a goldfinch is washing her feathers,
    Or a pitcher is being filled in a village.

    Let's not muddy the brook;
    Perhaps this brook runs to a poplar's foot,
    to wash away the grief of a lonely heart.

    A dervish may be dipping dry bread in the brook.

    A beautiful lady walked to the brink of the brook.
    Let's not muddy the brook.
    The lovely face has been doubled.

    What refreshing water!
    What a spring river!
    How friendly seem the folk at the upper village!
    May their springs always gush; may their cows always render milk!
    I have not seen their village,
    Surely God's footprints lie at the foot of their huts.
    There moonlight enlightens the expanse of words.
    Surely in the upper village hedges are low;
    There the folk know what sort of flower is anemone;
    Surely there the blue is blue.
    A bud is blossoming, the village inhabitants know.
    O what a fine village it must be!
    May its orchard-lanes be full of music!
    The folk upstream understand the water.
    They did not muddy the brook. We also
    must not muddy the brook.

    Sohrab Sepehri  (1928 - 1980)
    Translated from Persian by M. Alexandrian

    http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sohrab_Sepehri