When I think of poetry, I feel its fierce human suffering and its joy. - Sakutarō Hagiwara

Ah in this landscape that trails shadows
my soul clutches an itchy terror
like a ship that has come from a harbor it has come
crossing the islands with wraiths in the distance
it's neither wind nor rain
all of it a dark fear clinging to the sufferings of love and lust
and at the dull flute-sound that a snake charmer makes
my crumbling shadow wept lonely.

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.

Here and there, I see farmers' melancholy faces.
The faces are dark, looking only at the ground.
On the ground, spring, like smallpox, is ponderously
erupting.