English
To Whom Shall I Tell My Helplessness?
To whom, for God's sake, can I speak of my helplessness?
A king never listens to the cry of a beggar.
They say every dark night has its dawn,
but it seems our dark night has no morning.
The morning breeze scatters roses at your feet, and I fear
even a rose petal might bruise those soles.
It is no part of loyalty to wound the one who loves you;
stop torturing my heart and calling it fidelity.
Beside your beauty, what beauty can others show?
When does the faintest star shine before the sun?
You asked what became of the doctor after our cruelty:
my love, he died long ago, lost in longing for you.