For ten years the living and the dead are both ignorant of each other.
Even though I refrain from thinking of you,
However I cannot forget you.
Your lonely tomb lies a thousand miles away,
Where can I pour my sorrows anyway?
Even if we meet again, you can hardly recognize me by the way,
For my face is fully covered with dust,
And my temples have as frost turned grey.
Last night I suddenly dreamed of returing to my native land.
I saw you sitting by the tiny window,
Dressing and making up with your white hand.
We looked at each other, unable to speak a word,
Only a thousand lines of tears rolled down our faces.
I presume you will lie in that heartbreaking place year after year,
In that small round covered with pines mere,
Under the moon bright and clear.
Ten years, dead and living dim and draw apart.
I don‘t try to remember,
But forgetting is hard.
Lonely grave a thousand miles off,
Cold thoughts, where can I talk them out?
Even if we met, you wouldn‘t know me,
Dust on my face,
Hair like frost.
In a dream last night suddenly I was home.
By the window of the little room,
You were combing your hair and making up.
You turned and looked, not speaking,
Only lines of tears coursing down.
Year after year will it break my heart?
The moonlit grave,
The stubby pines.