Search. Search. Seek. Seek.
Cold. Cold. Clear. Clear.
Sorrow. Sorrow. Pain. Pain.
Hot flashes. Sudden chills.
Stabbing pains. Slow agonies.
I can find no peace.
I drink two cups, then three bowls,
Of clear wine until I can’t
Stand up against a gust of wind.
Wild geese fly over head.
They wrench my heart.
They were our friends in the old days.
Gold chrysanthemums litter
The ground, pile up, faded, dead.
This season I could not bear
To pick them. All alone,
Motionless at my window,
I watch the gathering shadows.
Fine rain sifts through the wu-t’ung trees,
And drips, drop by drop, through the dusk.
What can I ever do now?
How can I drive off this word —
Hopelessness?
Extremely captivating portrayal of various shades of nature over time until it all withered with age. Gold chrysanthemums.... This season I could not bear / To pick them. Fine rain sifts through the wu-t’ung trees And drips, drop by drop, through the dusk / What can I ever do now?
By expression of it, you have already rid it off you must just continue living.
...........read an article recently which said people who felt life was hopeless, had a much shorter lifespan....so you must drive away hopelessness.....
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I'm convinced... sadness is the mother poetry!