In the garden of sorrow, grows don’t-forget-me-grass,
In the garden of sorrow, any love will come to pass,
Its shadow entwines with what never was true,
Its roots reach upward, through skies ever blue—
The bitterest pattern woven in the blue morass.
In the garden of sorrow, life is almost light,
In the garden of sorrow, all stars pour milk-white:
Touch it with lips—it shall vanish away,
Pour it on earth—it shall bloom as day,
As jasmine, as rose, as butterfly wings in their flight.
In the garden of sorrow, you walk always alone,
In the garden of sorrow, you can’t tell your grief: “Be gone!”
Your dry tears scatter like salty sand—
You sleepily reach out for beloved hands,
But if you open your eyes—fall silent, and turn into stone.
In the garden of sorrow, footprints never fade away,
In the garden of sorrow, both tenderness and dismay,—
Here you sing your pain’s lullaby,
Here you let your heart be free and fly.
Quiet, dark, you can’t see the future day.
2025.07.08