Still the lanterns fly

 
Pure philosophy declares spring's mystery a lie.
In foolish, reckless, unconscious times, even so,
when Earth, the sun's mind-born child, in storm or overflowing rain's
cruel season busies itself with love's hymns, then year after year
a different kind of love is born.
That love ripens and fades it,
aware of all such losses.


The warmth that embraced everything in silence's crossing
and green's fullness gives the disheartened, weary flock the curve's relief.
In broad smiles, stony piety's gentle form, which briefly and subtly
says what is good is always sister, brother, father or mother...
Of course, unsatisfied by such consolation, the lovers' band never stops singing.


Who among you can place hand on heart and say
love is nothing good?
When being wounded is the only destiny, even so, wounded, it returns to the old path,
crowning the head with pain's diadem, looking back and laughing—naive lover,
blood on his feet, blood on his brow, hijal flowers blooming in his soul's wounds,
melody's comfort in eyes and lips, blood's current entering fire, then
let life go if it must, but breath continues to the end in love-consciousness!


Who still wants to judge love evil?
Love—I don't want to know or tell that eternal truth in some falsehood's faded wrapper.
We'd rather go with that song whose tune pulls everyone's heart the same way.
The lonely night passes, let it pass—in love's lantern, heart's joy. Even today, believers
fall in love with light when they see lanterns drift away.


What emotion awakens such terrible silent pain in the heart?
Do motionless mountains stand in grief's cremation ground?
Forest's splendor in evergreen, distant incomprehension?
Hour by hour, with what sound does ocean float, mountain weep?
In such moments where is nature, tell me? In which river valley?
Another picture? Let there be or not! When color's dance surrounds everything,
let a few secret sorrows remain if they must!
When love trembles, sound stupidly rushes from soul to paper, carefully devastating!


Grief comes indeed, when I see—
All the high mountains no longer dwell well as before. The gentleman says angrily,
why did wood become coal, for that blame hang the wood!
Darkness came... why did it come? Love appeared gratuitously, shamelessly, with what courage?
Seeing all this, echo's reaction runs away somewhere far, the king alone dances on stage!
Forest and wetlands, the city comes and sweeps everything away in an instant! Yet I
don't understand country, I understand emotion, when death comes I seek grave—in love, in this very earth!


Whatever happens, today bitter dreams, reflections... everything slips and lives in mirrors.
The heart walks freely, then I see fear's reel flies kites in objection.
Closing the door, probably, a little laughter.
Once, I see the six senses sinking into darkness...
In my beloved's flowing hair's current I've seen a rosary's wise gleam breathing.
That night in my room something warm and wrong kept counting hours in greed for liberation.
I don't know what was happening, but I heard the heart trembling, saw emotion rebelling.
Nothing in my life was ever enough, and something was happening
that shouldn't have been. Yet I wasn't afraid, God's riddles are familiar to me, anticipated.


Time moves forward, in time. Love can no longer shelter affection.
Pain's second journey begins—dark, directionless.
All the pastures, it's seen, have already dried up,
thousands of yellow grooves burn in water's body... birds bathe in them.
In the organized autumn afternoon, sunlight burns tree trunks,
life and death's enchanted courtyard binds once more within our meditation.
After some misunderstanding, the garden's residents sit quietly,
the bird still only wants to sing... that song's language openly says,
the sun has gone, we want to go somewhere across mountains and rivers,
we're hiding, hundreds of curious people have found us...


The sea's warm blue water frightens the trees, yellow leaves' kingdom spreads underfoot,
not much understanding remains when faithful joy defeats sorrow.
We all together look toward the grief-particles burning in daylight,
and shout in unison, being able to laugh is not life's final word!