Confessions of Death
written by: Yucheng Tao
I am a wealthy writer
from a noble Kyoto family.
In Japan, my fans call me: Swan.
I remember when pale moonlight
illuminates the ashen stone.
A woman drapes herself in a white kimono,
adorned with strutting cranes
and blooming pink sakura,
gazing deeply at my figure.
She is my wife, an elegant swan too,
who carries the spirit of Bushido.
I do not long to embrace death;
I only wish to spread my wings
and self-destruct beautifully,
for redemption.
My consciousness submerges
in the weight of original sin,
rolling alone.
My family owns a villa during wartime,
where cherry blossoms bloom in abundance.
How shameful this is
to the impoverished.
Only death offers peace.
I want to cast my weightless body
into the surging ocean together with her.
I say, “As a mortal, I am so sorry.
I do not deserve to be happy.”
Two swans step into the water,
forsaking this ridiculous family.
In the moment of fading,
death is liberation.
A moment of silence,
my heart at peace,
with oceanic waves.
Within this vast wheel of destiny,
I surrender to the hush of infinity.
We long for peace,
and in the crushing of the great wheel,
only the moment of suffocation
beneath the water
brings forth
a profound and joyful illusion:
The setting sun,
spring snow,
floating chrysanthemums
in my first chapter of life.
We die for the suffering,
but for whom do the living live?
We destroy ourselves for our own expectations,
but who remembers the dead?
At last, we smile at death,
at nothingness.
Death becomes our final sanctuary,
a respite from a world
reeking of greed.
Like two delicate leaves,
we softly fall into the ocean.
Through the moon’s shadow,
flowers’ darkened faces
resemble death.
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