Conversation with friends

I have nothing to say to you, what are we to talk about?

Neither the news of the world nor the delights of private moments; sweet as they are, they weary us.

No griefs, in here griefs no longer speak.

No ordinary happiness. What are they? The snares of the spirit.

No extraordinary unhappiness. They don’t exist. Banal is the agony of this body.

There is naught. There is naught. Let us admire the gold of each, the wind, the rustling of leaves.

Let us taste the wine and break the bread
in song that comes at the end of song,
in gladness that comes at the end of gladness.

Khôi