Yukio Mishima (English translation)

Kimitake Hiraoka,
In front of the flame of your eyelids, a golden pavilion is burning.
At your window a blade spurts: there is your blood on the snow.
Mount Fuji echoes your fascination for the tumultuous waves of death
On your shoulders you sling exaggeration.
It is your viaticum on this earth – military spirit -.
Your first novel is published during the war,
When paper is scarce
Patriot apostrophizing the emptiness of your fellow men,
You confess under a mask
Of your love for humanity
Angel in decomposition in the bars of Paris
You handle the saber under the snow of spring
Phantasmagorical morality
Of a thwarted destiny
You protected the emperor
The escaped horses
From your archaic conscience
Will remain engraved forever
In the still sea
Of the decaying present
If in the cemetery of Tama
On a December day
I find myself on your grave
With the sun and steel
For all defense,
Kneeling like a broken spirit
By the offenses done to you,
I will trace on the deep snow
Your disenchanted initials

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