A Touch, Yet Not A Touch
I gaze through the light of life,
Probing the fire of desire.
I vomit out my tribulations and penance,
Only to be lured back
Into the licking flames of temptation.
My cracked lips
Once mocked the poet’s lust,
Unaware that the fissures
Were prophetic sneers of the divining tortoise.
Angry at my own weakness, mourning my own misfortune,
I swallowed the seeds of thorns.
Beneath the scabbed wounds, I hoped—
That After the throbbing pain—
There would be more than just blood,
Growing in my throat,
But the branches of roses.
Compassion blooms, bitterness blossoms.
As nourishment for the fragrance, please give me:
A sip of tavern wine,
A single goose feather,
A tossed fruit.
To catalyze this moment of unresolved suspense.
Perhaps you will give,
Perhaps you will not.
But the night is long,
And I have not yet given up.
Words have reached their limit,
So I can only keep silent,
Waiting for Godot.
无事生非
我透过生命之，
光，探着欲念之，
火。呕吐出了自己的，
磨难 苦修，旋即又，
沉溺于火光挑拨的舔舐。
我裂开的唇，
曾嘲笑诗人的多情。
没来得及意识到，裂纹
是预知的讥讽蓍龟。
怒己不争、哀己不幸，
所以咽下荆棘的种子。
在结痂的伤口下，期望
阵痛后，蔓生在喉头的，
除了血迹，还有蔷薇的枝。
悲悯生长，苦涩花开。
作为芬芳的养料，请给我：
垆酒一口 鹅毛一根 掷果一枚。
来催化刹那间的悬而未决。
也许你会给，也许你不会。
但夜还很长，我也还没放弃。
文字能阐明的已到了尽头，我只好
保持缄默，等待戈多。