Poetry | Zhao Xudong: Years

Text/Zhao Xudong

years

I have an agreement with it.

From the first time I cried,

It is no longer abandoned.

I have some regrets,

It is a string of colorful embellishments.

moonlight

And didn't give me a lot,

What I was given was powerless begging.

The road is so weak,

Weak months are shaking.

Listen, it's the rustling of grass,

And the occasional scent of incense,

This is its happiness, but I don't know,

But what I do know is that it will still be a tired tomorrow.

Night, do not want to go to bed early,

Undulations have filled my pockets...

Who brought the moonlight?

Cover my sleepy eyebrows.

Winter is coming,

Only the sheep was still playing its worn-out piccolo.

The sun has set,

The purple sunset was still on the river of clouds.

The sheep returned,

Evening bells beat the twilight that was about to fade.

That's the hole.

oblique bluestone,

Carved with hungry, guilty, shy faces.

It's my friend,

Never do nothing to deceive each other,

It's just that my heart remains in its hands.

I have left it,

Ten years, twenty years, but I didn't care for a moment.

Maybe caring will make me grow old very quickly.

Forget about it,

That pain had long since turned green in my heart.

Moonlight,

You don't have to hide in the snow.

It's cold,

How do you let this night go to sleep quietly?

She's gone

Gone with the dark cloud,

With my roses,

And my life,

From then on, I didn't have to hesitate to cry.

When I see you,

You quietly left...

(Shanyue Zhao Xudong 2022.1.3)