A faint sound of instruments playing,
With an elegant chime of a lyrical voice,
Beckons me as I walk the garden in spring.

I wear white clothes, slowly they turn red with blood,
Blood and pain from the voice I hear sinks deep in me.
The tears fall, my tears worth to make rivers,
My words are countless, words to raise the dead are conveyed.

I slowly walk towards the source of this heartbreaking song,
I walk past fragrance of jasmine and swaying tulips.
In front of me comes a wide lake glimmering in blue,
In the middle of the lake a boat floats, on it a lone girl sings and plays her instruments of grief.
The wind comes and goes, making her loose clothes flutter.
Seasons pass, the girl is still in the middle of the lake, singing, playing her soul apart.

I see once again, round and round.
I see a boat being made of timber for me beside the lake.
Soon it will come, my time to take my boat to the lonely lake.
What I was no longer remains.
Soon what was will not be what it was.
The tree leaves will turn brown from her delicate gaze, it would be autumn in spring.
Dark clouds will gather around her, making her the eye of the storm.
Snowy mountain peaks will melt, as they too will cry in her song.
Soon she will take the stars and turn the moon bloody.
And I will be there, dancing on my grave to her tune.


© raionSAMIOKA