English
Number 6
My grief-nourished body turned to dust on the road to him,
and my dust now puts on airs before the eyes of the heavens.
We have made our loved ones content with our death;
in the end, our pain became the cure for a whole world's pain.
A reckless beloved, faithless friends, a wretched fate,
so you were just waiting for your chance, our cowardly enemy?
Everyone we meet is consumed with envy of our longing;
our cold sigh keeps a whole world warm while you are gone.
In the court of love, no one's worth stays hidden;
our pale yellow face will make us glow with honor at last.
We walked to the village of nonexistence, our skirt full of the heart's torn shreds;
this is all we brought back from the garden of existence.
How could our handful of dust draw the scorn of angels,
when a horseman like love rode out of our dust?
We wear the armor of humility and wield the sword of need;
if the sky is a man, let it withstand the assault of our battle.
Let a whole world draw its blade; we have thrown down our shield,
for in this arena there is no man left but us.
Not one night did our bed of grief-spreading turmoil
let the side of comfort rest beside us.
It cost us nothing, generous one, if we gambled away faith and heart;
in our game of dice, losing is the very name of winning.