The Dirge

O Maya, 'Tis important to return from your invisible journey for I, right now, like a corpse dangling on the ground, wish to die in spring, beneath the cherry blossoms, while the springtime Moon is full. If you, O mistress of my heart has passed away And after you, eager to serve, go I I now waver between life and death I wish to put my neck to an unsheathed sword whose cut is but a breath of wind Why wish death for your soul? Are not your lashes rows of arrows set to conquer any obstacle? When you wished to turn your brows into smoke, into nothingness, Did I not beg you to refrain? Can't you see that your absence has made me like a rotten log half-buried in the ground? And my life which has not flowered, hungs on the melody of death and has sunk beneath the shadow of death? In the face of faded love, where's thy strength?