A Lonely Traveller

Young spring my lad,
present not a rose but a watermelon
to your darling.

It's so unromantic!
You may question!

Is there any blazing love on earth redder
than the luscious flesh?
What can mirror better a gentle green hand by love
than the green skin?
Which is handier to quench parching thirst
in summer?

And how about those myriad undesirable seeds?
You may still wonder!

...

I've been lying here waiting;
A noisy brook nearby has been babbling for one and a half afternoon.
No footstep of my love in the mist,
only a wood of whispering pines
whispering her name over and over again.
One day and a half lingers as long as one century and a half.

She's gone with the wind again,
nowhere to be found.
Only a summer of cicadas
keep singing her song over and over again.

...

Merciful mother is crying again now in rainy season
for her suffering children on earth.
She cries and cries until her tears turn into a vast expanse of waters,
rushing down mountains
and submerging villages along with her scions on its way.


Some shed salty pearls for those poor souls.
I, a truth sayer,
say those are blessed who are carried away by merciful Mother,
for their souls are in heaven now,

...

Hungry vultures hover and circle over a boundless wilderness;
a traveler
lies alone on his belly.

No more story,
only vines of bleeding hearts grow wild
all over his body.

Yesterday it was a bud,
today a flower,
and what about tomorrow?

Aye!
Let's drink a toast to now
and get drunk!

When tomorrow comes,
A flower of yesterday will remain
as beautiful.