I close my eyes and try to chew the root of some grass to suck the juice of some grass to suck the bitter juice of melancholy indeed there's no hope … - Sakutarō Hagiwara

Ah lukewarm as this spring night
you who wander in a vermilion florid kimono
you who are as gentle as a younger sister
it's neither the cemetery's moon nor phosphorescence
nor shadow nor truth
and how simply so sad it is.
And so my life and body go on rotting
and in the shadow of the hazy landscape of "Nihilism"
are sensuously yet stickily reclining you see.

Darkness is like waves. On the surface of the sea where life is desolate, they roll in and break, break and roll in again. Ah waves of lust, waves of will, waves of evil thoughts that roll out and rise again. Waves, waves, waves, waves, waves of dark melancholy with nothing special to be said about it. Indeed, this lonely view always repeats its depressingly monotonous echoes on the dark surface of the sea under a cloudy sky. Let us then pass by the seashore, let us go step on the footprints on the dunes that recede into the distance. Let us meditate on the eternal time of nature, of the ocean, that reflects in the Buddha's lonely clock. Now on the surface of the crepuscular sea, watching the whitish waves of darkness that roll in and break, break and roll in again. Hearts on the beach where everything is so sad, crumbling with melancholy.

The dog that howls at the moon howls suspicious and fearful of his own shadow. To the dog's ailing heart, the moon is an ominous puzzle like a pallid ghost. The dog howls far into the distance.