Path of a Comet
Oppressed
By the heavy thoughts within me,
The rose in my heart
Falls piteously.
All are dim tonight—
The evening moon shrouded in the clouds,
The lights of the city of Kurosawa,
And my life.
Dreaming
The poppies let their petals fall.
Losing my dream,
I let my spirit fail.
If the tendrils of a morning glory
Wind themselves about my hair and bloom,
I shall lie asleep till the autumn wanes.
How forlorn was my heart
When I went out to see
The faintly white milky way
And heard a cuckoo wail!
How tiresome the guest
Who talks unceasingly
About the little birds!
Let him be a bird right away.
With the lightness of radiance
That envelops the sky,
The white ears of the pampas grass
Cover the autumnal hills.
The cuckoo puts down with her song
All the other singing creatures—
The multitudinous birds,
The cicades, and the bull frogs.
Even a peacock assumes,
When he is weary,
An attitude of dejection
And will not spread for a while
His lovely feathers.
While I was picking up seven pebbles,
My soul grew up to be a woman.
Now I walk along
Casting them out one by one.
The setting sun forgets
Its mighty power,
And, like a woman, burns
Only for love.