Chapter 7 7

46 You left me and went on your own. I think I will be sad for you, and I will use golden poetry to cast your lonely image and make offerings in my heart. But, my bad luck, time is short. Youth fades year by year; spring is temporary; feeble flowers fade meaninglessly, wise men warn me that life is but a dewdrop on a lotus leaf. Can I ignore these and just stare at the person who betrayed me? It would be unhelpful, stupid, because time is too short. Come, then, my rainy footsteps; smile, my golden autumn; come carefree April, throwing your kisses. You come, and you, and you! My lovers, you know we are all mortal.Is it a smart thing to break your heart for someone who takes her heart back?Because time is short.

Sitting in the corner of the room and meditating, it is sweet to write all of you in my world in the rhythm. It is heroic to cling to one's sorrows and let no one comfort them. But a new face, peeping outside my door, lifts up to meet mine. I can only try to shed my tears and change the tone of my song. Because time is short. 47 If that's what you want, I'll stop singing. If it makes your heart tremble, I'll take my eyes off your face. If it makes you startle suddenly while walking, I will avoid it and go another way. If it upsets you when you string your wreaths, I will keep from your lonely garden.

If I make a splash, I won't row a boat by your river. 48 Release me from your sweet shackles, my love, and pour no more wine of kisses. The smoke of cigarettes choked my heart. Open the door and let the morning light in! I disappear in you, wrapped in the folds of your caresses. Release me from your temptations, and give me back my manliness, that I may offer you my free heart. 49 I took her hand and held her close to my chest. I want to fill my arms with her loveliness, steal her sweet smile with kisses, drink her dark glance with my eyes. Oh, but where is it?Who can filter the blue from the sky?

I want to grasp beauty; it eludes me, and only the body remains in my hands. Disappointed and sleepy, I return. How can the body touch the flowers that only the spirit can touch? 50 Day and night, love, my heart longs to meet you - a meeting like death that devours all. Take me like a storm; take everything from me; split my sleep and snatch my dreams.Take away my world. In this ruin, in all the nakedness of the spirit, let us be one in beauty. My fancy is poor!Where is the hope of this unity but in thee, my God? 51 So let's go after the last song. When the night is over, let the night be over.

Who do I want to hold in my arms?Dreams are never caught. My longing hands pressed the "emptiness" against my heart and crushed my chest. 52 Why did the lights go out? I covered it with my cloak lest it should be blown out by the wind, so the light went out. Why did the flowers thank you? My ardent love pressed it to my heart, so the flower withered. Why did Quan do it? I built a dike to hold it in for my use, so the spring dried up. Why did the strings break? I force a syllable it cannot hold, and the string breaks. 53 Why does staring at me make me ashamed? I'm not here to beg.

Just to pass the time, I came to stand outside the fence of your yard. Why does staring at me make me ashamed? I have not picked a single rose or plucked a single fruit from your garden. I humbly seek shade under a roadside shed where any stranger can stand. I did not pick a single rose. Yes, my feet are weary, and the showers are falling again. The wind calls in the swaying bamboo forest. Cloud formations ran across the sky as if retreating. My feet are tired. I don't know what you think of me, or who you're waiting for at the door. Lightning blinds your gaze. How did I know you'd see me standing in the dark?

I don't know what you think of me. The day ended and the rain stopped. I leave your shade of your garden and your seat in the lawn. The daylight is dark; close your doors; I will go my way. The day is over. 54 The market is over, where are you going with your basket in haste at night? They all went home with their burdens; the moon peeped through the gaps in the village trees. The echo of the ship's call echoed from the deep black water to the far marshes where the mallards slept. Where will you go in a hurry with your basket when the market is past? Sleep pressed her fingers to the eyes of the earth.

The crow's nest is quiet, and the whispers of the bamboo leaves are also silent. The working people returned from the fields and spread the mats in the yard. Where will you go in a hurry with your basket when the market is past? 55 You left at noon. The sun was shining. I had finished my work and was sitting on the porch when you left. An uncertain wind blows, carrying with it many fragrances of the far fields. In the shade of a tree the pigeons are hooting incessantly, and a bee is flying in my house, buzzing with news from far and wide. The village fell asleep in the midday heat.No one was on the road.

The sound of leaves came and went. I gaze at the sky and weave in the blue the name of a man I know, as the village sleeps in the midday heat. I forgot to braid my hair.The sleepy wind plays with it on my cheek. The river flows peacefully under the shaded banks. The lazy white cloud didn't move. I forgot to braid my hair. You left at noon. The road is dusty and hot, and the fields are panting. Doves call among the leaves. I sit alone on the balcony when you go. 56 I'm one of those women who is busy with mediocre daily chores. Why did you single me out, bring me out of the cool shade of everyday life?

Love that is not shown is sacred.It shines like a jewel in the obscurity of the hidden heart.It looked pitifully dim in the strange daylight. Oh, you broke the lid of my heart, dragged my trembling love into the open place, and destroyed forever the dark corner that hid my heart's nest. The other women are the same as before. No one peeps into the deepest part of themselves, they don't know their secrets. They smile, cry, talk, and work briskly.They go to the temple every day, light their lamps, and fetch water from the river. I wish I could rescue my love from undisturbed shyness, but you turn your back.

Yes, your future is great, but you cut off my way, and leave me naked before the world's lashless eyes stare day and night. 57 I picked your flowers, O world! I pressed it to my chest and the flower stabbed me. As the daylight fades, I find that the flowers wither, but the pain remains. Many fragrant and colorful flowers will come to you again, oh, the world! But my flower-picking days are past, and the night is long, and I have no roses, only pain remains. 58 One morning a blind girl came and offered me a wreath under lotus leaves. I hung it around my neck, and tears welled up in my eyes. I kissed it and said, "You are as blind as a flower." "You yourself do not know how beautiful your gift is." 59 O woman, you are not only a god, but a handicraft of men; they adorn you with beauty from their hearts forever. Poets weave your webs with figurative golden threads, and painters give your figure eternal new immortality. The sea offers its pearls, the mine its gold, and the summer garden its flowers to adorn you, cover you, and make you more beautiful. Desire of the human heart, sprinkle your youth with glory. . You are half woman, half dream. 60 In the midst of life's galloping roar, ah, the "beauty" of stone carvings, you stand silently, alone and transcendently. "Great time" sits attached at your feet and whispers, "Speak, speak to me, I love, speak, my bride!" But your words are blocked by stones, oh, "immovable beauty"!