The Bruised Name
Under the feet of heartless passersby, a name no one knows
where from, rolling along the path blood-stained; the name
wounded from time after time is kicked and trampled
by the absentminded strollers drifting along the way
no one cares where it leads to
the name, if only not returned,
may still be lingering in the ears of the lover
as a sweet nothing; the name still remains in the heart of lover
who wanders in the wilderness calling and crying from irresistible yearning;
the lover, however, grew tired at last,
and became a wondering name itself,
it comes to the bank of the river Cocytus dragging its feet,
wails, and throws itself in the river and becomes a tear drop
in the end.
The tear drop carried by the Cocytus’ water
becomes the name that is downright ignored
now tossing around in the field cruelly treated without justice.
Although I have come this far fumbling a difficult way,
grasping the trying path, I hear no whisper my darling
once echoed softly in my ears; the name covered in bumps
and bruises rolling on the field holding her deeply missed
sweet and tender whisper in her bosom
the poor name, it would never been rather happier
if it threw itself into the Lethe and drifted away
in the water of oblivion.
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