To the Tune of a Phoenix Hairpin

T'ang Wan, 12th century


The world's love runs thin.
Human love turns evil.
Rain strips, in the yellow twilight,
the flowers from the branches.

The dawn wind will dry my tear stains.
I try to write down the trouble of my heart.
I can only speak obliquely, exhausted.
It is hard, hard.
We are each of us all alone.

Today is not yesterday.
My troubled mind sways
like the rope of a swing.
A horn sounds in the cold depth of the night.

Afraid of people's questions
I will swallow my tears
and pretend to be happy.
Deceit. Deceit. Deceit.