Ran

Just a practice of drama.

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Shall I believe in a man’s eyes,

Looking into your face, with torching heat of love,

Taking your soul away?

Shall I believe in a man’s mouth,

Smiling with cunning and affection,

Speaking forth the words of promises and vows?

Or shall I believe in a man’s arm,

With unswerving strength, holding you tight,

Protecting you from danger?

No, never shall I!

The eyes once behold you, now

Express their admiration to another woman;

The mouth once spoke to you, now

Telling its love elsewhere;

The arms once surrounded you, now

As hard as a rock, push you

Far, far away.

Never shall I be such a fool,

A slave of love, a blind in delusion!

Women, what a shame! No fair of immortal

Could survive the cruelty of time,

Like dew of morning, and frost of night,

Beautiful but ephemeral; Nothing is left,

But oldness, ugliness, wretch and solitary.

Women, fie upon this! Nothing is

Belong to you, what though a nobleness

You were born as; Nothing is rewarded to you,

What though you devote yourself to your beloved,

Heart and soul. Bliss is fragile; Only misery is eternal.

So, sleep, my young beauty, in the wedding dress

Netted with my jealousy and curse;

Sleep, my children, say farewell

To this deceptive world, with love and hatred,

False or true. I shall not love, since love

Is so expensive; Nor shall I hate, since I will

Burn my hatred into ashes on my own hand.