Even in the torture chamber, I was the lucky one;
when each lottery was over, unaccountably I had won.
And even the mightiest rivers found accessible refuge in me;
though I was called a parched, arid desert, I turned out to be the sea.
And how sweetly I remember you, oh, my wild, delectable love—
as the purest white blossoms bloom, on talented branches above.
And while I’m half-convinced that folks adore me in this town,
still, all the hands I kissed held knives and tried to shake me down.
You lost the battle, my coward friend, my craven enemy,
when, to victimize my lonely soul, you sent a despoiling army.
Lost in the wastelands of vast love, I was an eager traveler,
like a breeze in search of your fragrance, a vagabond explorer.