There's moss a little below the surface of the water,
you can see it if you lean just a little;
but she doesn't care to, she's sent her gaze off
in search of the red rose.
I watch, from dawn to dusk I watch
how like estranged love and longing it keeps moving endlessly,
the water moss.


He who is pierced through his very heart by a five-pronged shaft,
his name is love.
He whose body has turned blue, as if bitten by a cobra,
his name is love.
My Grandma used to say, he who tears away the sun
to light a lamp in a sorrowing hut,
his name is love.