Ode to My Thirty Years

There was a glimmering river running through my first ten years

A child was floating along the river like a willow twig

Banners and gongs, gathered young pioneers

Fishpond and rice paddies, marked my rural innocence

I wad told not to fear the ghosts from the dark alley

I shared all my secrets with the ancient camphor tree

A lonely white sheet was hanging down from the balcony 

A red balloon escaped my hand, disappeared in the blue sky 

The world changed fast in my second ten years

Doors opened into the sunflower fields

Like a young bird awkwardly flapping its wings

I read books and dreamed in those starry evenings

Sparks of ambition and illusion

Concealed the taste of flesh and imaginary feelings 

I waited for a revolution impatiently

As the bird waiting to soar in the thunderstorm

My third decade was full of discoveries

I drifted between continents seeking myths and miracles

Drunk nights, salty tears and invicible fears

I lit up the candle and conversed with the dead poets

Friends came and left, names faded in obscurity

Love was the elusive fog, it crawled in without any notice

I flew high and low in all the spirits

I stumbled on the road and wondered about the next destinations

All that should have happened have already happened

How could I suspect the whole thing as such a conspiracy?

Holding the mirror with my trembling hands

I wake up in the sweat after all the nostalgic nightmares

Hovering on the horizon is the same dark cloud

Thirty philosophers are chanting together outside my little house

What have I done and where should I go

I whisper anxiously to my shadow but can’t see where it hides