THE NIGHT deepens and the dying flame flickers in the lamp. I forgot to notice when the evening-like a village girl who has filled her pitcher at the river a last time for that day-closed the door on her cabin. I was speaking to you, my love, with mind barely conscious of my voice-tell me, had it any meaning? Did it bring you any message from beyond life's borders? For now, since my voice has ceased, I feel the night throbbing with thoughts that gaze in awe at the abyss of their dumbness.
YOU ALWAYS stand alone beyond the stream of my songs. The waves of my tunes wash your feet but I know not how to reach them. This play of mine with you is a play from afar. It is the pain of separation that melts into melody through my flute. I wait for the time when your boat crosses over to my shore and you take my flute into your own hands.