On the Far Shore of Sensation

 I know, as always, I am no one.
  
 In the vast fields of feeling,
 nowhere, not even on a torn blade of grass—
 does my dew ever gather.
 One day, when I become 'nothing' forever in silence,
 remembering that I once existed—even that will be difficult.
 Why my play is absent from the stage of mind,
 I know this well.
  
 It hurts.
  
 Still, there's no sorrow that...
 Being such a dancer,
 filled only with flesh,
 I never wished to dance;
 nor wished to make others dance—
 that desire simply isn't there.
  
 I know, hearing this, in the sound of hahaha laughter
 all around grows drunk.
 But this mad intoxication's trail—
 how much longer? How many ages?
  
 One who wants something cheap
 finds even precious things
 quite cheap indeed!
  
 All the colors of love
 that don't exist even spanning this entire world,
 so many colors—don't look;
 even if you see them, don't show them.
 Some riches are beautiful kept hidden!
  
 Giving that love
 to one who isn't worthy
 of that love—
 is sin upon sin...
 This sin, how easily it destroys everything!
 All, all, and all.
  
 Still, in this very sin
 how blissfully the world drowns!
 Envy rises—terrible envy;
 because the search of one's own heart—
 that only oneself knows. (Really?)
 For others, the pure perfect certain mountain
 of love gathered within the heart—
 I bash my head against it and die. Every moment!
  
 One who doesn't understand that infinite love
 can be forgiven.
 Why?
 Fierce hatred too—
 they can't grasp that either!
  
 The old battle between love and hatred. This is life!
  
 That's good too!
 Because—
 it's such great torment
 when in the same mold
 pressed close together
 those two live!
  
 That love in which hateful things
 are ignored
 through skillful pretense of simply not seeing,
 that love
 I view with intense hatred.
 Such people and mentalities, I push away both with pleasure!
  
 Even if love is born for some causeless reason,
 then why can't hatred's cause give birth to hatred?
 If life can be given in love,
 why can't it be taken in hatred?
 Or—the reverse:
 giving in hatred, taking in love?
 It works that way too, doesn't it?
 Rules are fundamentally what we make them. Isn't that so?
  
 This filthy world of self-interest—
 cutting, tearing, dissecting it
 into bloody, primal form,
 I long to see it clearly.
 What is there in it worth saving,
 in what enchantment, what addiction
 do people spend their time
 intoxicated in baths of self-interest
 in all these false glories-reputations-bodies!
  
 Where does freedom's purpose alone
 flutter in that sky
 in the sunlight on wings
 of free birds?
 Think—
 sometimes freedom is found
 secure in various arrangements
 of bold iron,
 yet in the midst of incomprehensible cages!
 Yes, it's found, it's found! Just don't look!
  
 I love—in selfless boundless love
 floating in clear voice with different melody.
 I love—in time's fierce necessity, even in hatred
 endlessly reveling; in the entangled, wrapped maya and tenderness.
  
 Love keeps coming and gathering
 in the faithful vessel of mind.
 What a pull makes responsibility grow!
 Luxurious indifference toward it is greater than murder—
 if that love is true!
  
 Love—may it always stay well, live well...this, just this much!