Cobwebs on the ceiling,
And in the corners of my mind,
Unswept dust on the bookstand,
A decadence, I cannot understand;
And in front, the mirror stares,
At the wrinkles on my face,
The Buddha sits his eyes closed,
Cannot see my agony.
Through the broken window,
This stifling heat burns me;
Outside the smell of burnt grass,
Chokes and strangles me.
The barren trees, the parched river,
Dead fish and the carcass,
The dead bird coos no longer,
The ghosts and the shadows linger,
In the corners of my mind.
The caterpillar is long dead,
But the worm it crawls inside my head,
Bores its way excruciatingly,
Numbs my nerves and my will
I could not move, I stood still.
The hours and the days pass,
Ever so quickly without a pause,
I wake up to sleep again,
I feel no joy, I feel no pain,
Just a fallen tree on the ground.
It has set in, I know for sure,
A decadence, I cannot understand.