III. With a Heart Unwithered
3-1
To the dead, when she bids farewell,
She casts the slate into the fire, an act futile.
I have never heard of lands with such customs.
At this time, something drizzles down the slate,
Full of colors,
seemingly tears for the Reaper of chills.
It turns out the slate is inscribed with poems,
And every phrase
Is diligently colored with skill.
“Before people pass away,
I write down these poems.”[1]
That is the limit of the girl's answer —
And she only responds with silence
for requests to read these poems.
3-2
As time goes by, she finally opens her petal-veiled heart,
And the reason behind her reluctance to show her work is finally clear:
“My poems are still too green… Not worthy to be art.”[2]
— It stems from the girl's shame and discomfort.
It seems the girl once loved to imagine with effort,
And many wild tales were written on her part.
A misunderstand was what made her cease this art.
It was a pair of archenemies who gained fame in the war,
One of them burst into laughter after reading the girl's poetic words —
“He and I clearly wish to kill and tear each other apart.
But in your eyes, you think we are close, unable to part?”[3]
3-3
She did not write poetry as a pastime.
It is said that she left great works under hundreds of names.
In different times,
She even criticized her previous beliefs,
Making her identity even harder to assume.
I still found her weakness
After many twists and turns —
No matter how fickle her thoughts,
She never lost faith, in those words,
Regarding the value of fragile mortal lives.
She is heartbreaking and enchanting,
She is the fingertips of death,
And the ghost of love and poetry.
3-4
However, those poems have brought her many complaints —
The poems that her hands composed,
All lack an ending of any kind,
And the maid of death has no desire to continue them.
“This is truly difficult to write…”
The girl excuses herself,
“My duty is to lead the living to the end.
I cannot think of a fitting end for a poem to the dead.”[4]
Such is the epitome of lies —
One who's grown used to death,
Remains inexperienced with farewells.
3-5
Therefore, I extend her an invitation —
In this story belonging to herself,
She can leave an ending reserved only for her.
“… What she brings is not only death.”[5]
She thus replied
When we first met.
And when we meet once again for the last time,
She again deliberates over this closing statement —
“Apart from death, there is something else
That is worth remembering.”
That is the journey she walked.