Bonsai of Thoughts: Five

76. I would buy your heavy sorrows with money,
and you could wrap my life's one sliver of joy in a paper bag and take it away.

77. Don't ever mention at home that your lover writes poetry—
you won't be able to bear such humiliation!

78. Don't seek to make a home with me, beloved!
Apart from wrestling with pen and paper, I have no present, no future either.

79. You know how to sing, I know how to touch melodies,
you can weep, I know how to become tears.
Alas, what a gulf lies between you and me!

80. You are like a yellow butterfly;
I can see you, can even feel you;
I just cannot catch you.

81. A poet begins to write upon catching the scent of your hair;
if you hadn't loosened that binding of your tresses, the poet could never have discovered himself!

82. I swear by every night I've spent waiting—
from today, my vigil ends.

83. With your wild hair you've woven clouds, enchantress;
and then you ask why the sky looks so displeased?

84. Leave me and go, go right now!
When I see you I can't write as much as when I don't.

85. Tell me, how much more must you burn me before you're satisfied?
Don't write curses in the deep night, beloved; staying up late will make you ill.

86. How can I still go to gatherings with friends?
Seeing them only reminds me of all that I lack!

87. Even wanting to, I cannot weep from this terrible heartbreak,
though even beggars sometimes receive a rich man's compassion!

88. In the kohl of your eyes, traces of tears;
tell me, how much of that is my share?

89. I could give my very life to see you smile!
Remember this: you belong only to one who will pay the price of your tears.

90. My belly is full of hunger, yet I cannot eat;
even forgetting food, I never forget to write.

91. Today begins my beloved's new romance,
the one for whom I've composed a hundred failed verses.

92. When hearts unite, fate may not;
when fate unites, hearts rarely do.

93. Solitude is my home and silence my dwelling,
this fear of crowds persists—I die at the sight of people!

94. The poet these days isn't in his poetry, but in his beloved's eyes,
tell me, how are all the rest of you burning...in hell?

95. Even if I die, I won't go to speak to you, won't go to see you;
let the proud know today—a person can indeed live alone!

96. When the pen runs out, people buy paper, and when paper runs out, a pen;
but when a poet's balm is finished, he goes to buy pain—for that pain is the poet's balm!

97. No more questions—why should you receive meaningless answers?
Silence doesn't understand why anyone would want to love it.

98. Our past sounds beautiful when told by your lips;
if I told it, you'd be frightened—my memories are too terrible!

99. For ages I've waited for the one to whom I'd give my heart,
she took my hand and said her heart is already pledged to another's home!

100. Pouring out a lifetime's savings and wealth,
tell me why I should live, if I cannot have you!