Seasons passing,
youth maturing,
still the maiden does not appear.

The music saddens,
day after day,
season after season,
still she does not appear.

Beloved maiden of the gentleman,
Why doth thee grant him his wish?
Your ladyship clearly feels the same.
Can thee not defy thy parents?
Can thee two lovers not run away?

This music thee love plays,
the whisper of the flute,
or the strings of the zither,
pitch itself with pure melancholy,
filling even the passing listeners
with overwhelming sadness
and heartache to a sorrow unknown.

We, your old friends, too, are aching,
listening to the longing messages
and deep feelings buried in the tune.
We of the young bamboo groove,
when we had yet to spout flowers,
envied the couple blooming with love
sweet talking under our parents' shades.

Our parents have passes,
our flowers have blossomed,
our youth steadily maturing.
This lad hair, too, turning white.

Even as the tune grows sadder,
day after day,
season after season,
still the maiden does not appear.

© Su Myat MS
Photo credit to artist

#Love #Classic #Longing
#Prose #Poetry