A Few Lines of Sorrow

 
In the soft, tender breeze of silent evening
where moisture's breath catches the scent,
deep within, in the earth's heart, the sun's flower
was borrowing life from the rose tree's warmth.
I felt as though I was suffocating,
all the scales for measuring my love
have given up and sit idle! Alas, by then I had learned
to think of you and see you with clear eyes!


The melody's estuary where I often drift away
seems woven in your very eyes! The flower that blooms
in hiding, the spring that descends from light
into grass's body, or the secret words whose
waves still rise in quiet places—there I have heard your voice.


All the blossoming joy and tender touch
that carries me floating in life's current,
through flowers, in wind, in water, in music's flow—there too
I hear you, see you, wipe away weariness
in your shadow. I think even now, returning might be easy!


The butterfly hangs in spring's braid
and the most beautiful picture is painted
by some artist with sorrowful eyes, who understanding your
heart draws clouds through the sky
when all your pain is taken away,
then what wondrous love you carry wandering in your breast—
how marvelous it looks! Their words never come to mind again!


A God-sent man had come, who
loved best the flowers fallen in the garden.
He descended to earth carrying a blazing torch
from which light flew up and bloomed in smoke.
To save the earth's heart from being wounded, and
to hear the roots' longing for underground water—
neither you nor I could recognize him.


A stone hearing the waterfall's bubbling laughter
thinks of water's pointless journey.
Perhaps it will be destroyed, ruined—
that stone, wounding the heart of stars,
stood sounding trumpets atop mountains high as the sun.
It couldn't hear the sound of our laughter or tears,
it must wander alone in its shadow searching for its sins,
and accept that truly no dried flower remains
wrapped in rose thorns... Such thoughts bring great comfort.


I'm telling you, listen. You know that stone's
heart only looks like a star, nothing more. For it alone
you wander about, a time has passed when chariots, year after year,
pulled along with their horses, sang, tried to find its heart's beauty,
and joyfully hid even from yourself hoping that in one careless
moment you'd receive it as a gift. It had already taken possession of everything
you had, you never even knew.


Come then, let's learn to think even in dream time,
and believe we can walk through storms too.
Just listen to the song the birds make—love lives there!
The life they live then, we too will live that life.
When they fall to earth, and
even sulking snow melts on your warm lips, then,
or for a soldier
who once had to go to the firing squad, where
life dropped its flag for the last time
because he loved his country—even for his sake...
At least remembering that soldier's courage,
don't entomb your heart in stone
where not a single seed has ever sprouted!


You're not hearing this rambling, just walking away.
My spring, my love, my memories—
leaving everything behind, you're walking away.
Thank you, your murderous heart.
Thank you for murdering me.
In this life you never learned how it feels
to die in love! Live nursing your regrets!


Your hair's fragrance hasn't faded yet,
your hand's touch hasn't been forgotten yet,
your eyes' light hasn't dimmed yet,
your voice's melody hasn't been canceled yet,
I still feel your body's warmth exactly!
Yet... yet you're leaving, moving far away!