Yesterday I buried—
all the false spells of empty dreams.
Burying them, I was purified
this morning, this very morning,
in this morning's brilliant sunlight
I buried the lies of futile longing.
Let a rose, a blood-red rose
bloom, bloom, this morning—
in this morning's brilliant sunlight
let it grow like a money plant,
grow, grow
this morning.
Let ever-new flowers bloom in hope's bridal chamber,
let deep blood-red roses bloom and bloom
in the pure heart of pure longing,
I buried the false past—
this morning,
in this morning's brilliant sunlight.
As if I myself,
the I of days to come, am being born
in hope's bridal chamber.
Born, I rise and grow
like tender rice shoots in neat rows.
I rise and grow—
like a flourishing tree
in the sixteen arts of the full moon
in this morning's sunlight
having buried false hopes.
The I of coming days
let me grow,
grow
as the destroyer of what is present.
Give me strength, O Lord,
give me strength,
so that I
don't flee on the tram of false dawn.
Today let no new flowers bloom…
let roses bloom this morning—
in this morning's brilliant sunlight.