You can be seen without understanding anything.
Seeing and seeing, seeing and seeing—can one
grasp that everything, in the end, is tragic?
Only true unconsciousness truly sees you!
What is this? Does anyone else feel this way?
You know nothing of all this, yet
it happens to you too; you cannot understand, Rupa.
Under the pretext of seeing you, I bring gifts—
approaching holidays, star-filled skies and fairy tales…
How you can make one so lonely!
Yet the apples remain golden;
upon them your red glow, lips bending
low in fullness—and night on the clock's hands.
Is it midnight now?
How did I arrive? Present; yet
where shall I go! It won't work, won't align…destination!
How beautifully you can even think this! Ah!
If word and feeling
were ever to meet, would it still
go unsaid—Hey! Why did you come here
if you're going to leave…without saying anything?