Is there, perhaps, sweet consolation to be had from the unforgiving irony that love incessantly seeks acknowledgement, validation, even reciprocation? For aren’t the luminous pearls of poetry nurtured deep in the despondent seas of unrequited love, within the safe shells of wounded hearts?
Like a driven wave,
Dashed by fierce winds on a rock,
So it is, alas!
Crushed and all alone am I,
Thinking over what has been.
(by Minamoto no Shigeyuki in Clay MacCauley’s translation of the anthology Hyakunin Isshu -48)
Peel away the layers of the bleeding chrysalis and the angst of a lonely lover flutters alone in the suffocating dark, only his words weaving gossamer threads of delicate light around his trembling hands. Words that can take wing and smear iridescent hope across a sunless sky.
the winter wind
swinging on empty boughs
hears birdsong within