When Kokeshi Sleeps

Go hush hush, go shh shh

A kokeshi doll sleeps in a wood

Roll, roll, goes the axle, spins the wheel

Sings the spine, rubs the straw form,

From pagoda, from cherry, a neck,

Oh not a neck, an arm, oh not an arm,

A foot, oh not a foot, the doll is shy and

Only a happy child, the Bankaki knows

Where to dip and where to skip,

The Bankaki never slips, the doll maker's

Eyes don't see, the doll maker's fingers

Never touch, a kokeshi doll has painted

Kimono, a flower from last spring, eyes

Opened in wings and lips that aren't lips

She lives the tree in ease and becomes;

a master of a precise ending, this doll

Sings, not a word, not a note, kokeshi

Sings a symphony.

Pando

The wind climbs the veins of Pando

silence follows a single yellow leaf

Tao's chattering drops in astonishment

eighty thousand years of living

is just a glimpse

for a three thousand years old child

Sabrina Binte Masud writes creatively in a number of genres and has won international awards for her plays.