The Last Hour
In the House of Ebony Furniture
I, who do not sing of suffering
will not be struck by the shadows in the mirror
will not curse the paper kites that fly
curse the knobs of the doors that have been eaten by the worms
swaying side to side in the winds of ignorance
I will not To think of you
Like white-hatted men making pilgrimages to corn chewed over thousands of years
Not thereby to fall into a silent swamp
Love of white and bright and ignoble winters
The crows calling
Transmitting long-lost and undying passions
Not thereby to flee into the twilight
Meet with the heavy-shouldered Woods
I'll be chilling with the white branches of the trees
and searching for the earliest days of mankind's existence
Farewell to the plaza, where the smiles of our forefathers were greeted by the insidious gardens of the years
Every change is a great beastliness
Whoever walks has to live another life
To look forward to the flowers of time is to look forward to the flowers of time. >
Expecting the petals of time to hit my empty shell
The center of the mansion of death
You don't have to wait for me
I won't look at the clouds
Recollecting on how lightly we floated in the afterlife
I won't look at the running water
Tolerating the light of the full pebbles eclipsed by the tears
Only the night hangs low over my head
It's like the demise of a bubble in the ocean
The aging window not far away
Like a flag defeated on the battlefield
The bells ringing at midnight My hand
At the lamps flutteringAn old duck
---- the mascot of this old age
Stands on my wooden loft
Around the placements Once again comes to mind
I can't help but be dusty
This glittering scene in the morgue
Illuminates the entire lives of many
I'd be nowhere to be seen from now on
On the city's fresh daily newspapers
Searching for the armrests that fly by on the trolley
I'd be facing the sunshine from now on
On the stainless steel blades
Guying myself You don't have to wait for me
Windy moorland
1988.11-12