To Van Gogh
Old leaves
Thousands of stars fall into your eyes,
Transformed into rushing, churning seawater;
Lush sunflowers bloom in your heart,
Turn into a fiery, burning flame;
The starry sky hovers in your pen
- It is a romance that will not be lost until death,
Sunflowers burn in your heart
- it is the hope that never ends;
You have been poor and displaced all your life,
But you still have the stars and the wheat fields,
The raging fire that ignites your soul,
Passers-by only see green smoke;
So you choose --
Run to the freedom of dusk!
Run to the death of freedom!