Lingao Pavilion VI
I was in front of the speaker without intention: the world is blooming like a hundred flowers.
Immediately, the footsteps that should have been heard were scattered.
Shattered by me. They're going on here,
Thorough. It's like a choice with language, yes.
People have been separated from these things for too long
From the afflictions of man.
/
The silent praise of a comfortable life is detached from self-reflection.
Everybody, then, spits on that prophetic figure.
The wall that kept out the wind beneath the ruins, and his shabby clothes.
And to the one that I have articulated and explained silently,
The sound of footsteps, if, if the person really gives up
And to be alive? At this moment, under the darkness of the evening sky.
