Chōka

Last night, suddenly,
unexpectedly, we spoke.
We were both civil,
and I didn't start to cry
or to get angry--
I was just a little sad
when I discovered
that you are still so scornful,
full of bitterness
because the world is the world.
You hate childishly
without understanding why
or what you despise.
Look at you, listen to you;
you steam up the air,
stewing in your bitterness,
a poisonous brew.
Can you really be so young?
I forget sometimes.
And I don't know anymore
to which standard to hold you.