The Nara period, around 728 (Jinki 5). Ōtomo no Tabito, posted to Tsukushi as Governor-General of Dazaifu, lost his beloved wife, Ōtomo no Iratsume, soon after taking up the post. This poem is his "poem in reply to sad tidings," composed in answer to condolences from the capital.
"It is at the very moment I realize the world is empty that my sorrow grows ever, ever greater"—knowing the teaching of impermanence as knowledge and living through loss are entirely different things. A poem that carves out a genuinely human wail, where enlightenment brings no salvation.
You thought "once I understand, it will get easier," yet the more you understand, the more it hurts. The lyrics layer Tabito onto a modern loss in which you cannot smile with the face of someone who has found the answer. And still, morning comes—a song about choosing to go on living, carrying the grief without erasing it.
さよならの意味を知った夜
わかってたはずなのに
「世間なんて空っぽだ」って
口にした 途端に
知ってしまえば 楽になれると そう思ってた
でも本当はね 知るほどに 痛いんだ
世間はむなしいものだと 知るその時こそ
いよよ ますます 悲しくて
答えを見つけた顔で 笑えないよ
わかるってことが こんなにも
重いなんて 知らなかった
それでも朝は来るんでしょ
眠れない夜に 流れてく
誰かの幸せと 別れと
全部 嘘じゃないのに
なんでこんな 空っぽなんだろう
強くなったわけじゃない ただ慣れただけ
泣けないことを 大人って 呼ぶのなら
世の中は むなしきものと 知る時し
いよよますます 悲しかりけり
千年前の あなたも 同じ夜を 数えてたの?
うつせみの この世界で
消えていく ものばかり数えて
それでも歌に したくなる
この悲しみを 抱きしめて
むなしいって わかったって
悲しみは 消えないまま
でも ひとりじゃ ないんだって
千年越しの 声がする
いよよ ますます 愛おしい
壊れやすい この世界が
朝焼けに 溶けてゆく
泣いてもいいよ ねえ
The night I learned what goodbye truly means
even though I thought I already knew
"The world is nothing but empty," I said —
and the very moment it left my lips
I thought that once I knew, it would set me free
but the truth is, the more I know, the more it aches
The very moment you know this world to be a hollow thing
ever more, ever deeper, the sorrow grows
I can't smile as if I've found the answer
I never knew that understanding
could weigh on me this heavily
and yet the morning still comes, doesn't it
Through sleepless nights they drift on by —
someone's happiness, someone's farewell
none of it is a lie, and still
why does everything feel so hollow
I haven't grown stronger, I've only grown used to it
if being unable to cry is what they call a grown-up
This world is a hollow thing, and when I know it
ever more, ever deeper, the sorrow grows
A thousand years ago, did you count these same nights too?
In this world, fleeting as a cicada's cast-off shell
I keep counting only the things that fade away
and even so, I long to turn it into a song
holding this sorrow close against my chest
Even knowing it's all in vain
the sorrow stays, it will not fade
and yet I'm not alone — I understand that now
a voice reaches me across a thousand years
ever more, ever deeper, how dear it becomes
this fragile, breakable world of ours
melting away into the morning glow
it's alright to cry, you know