週三 1月 04, 2006 1:25 am
A sponge I am, sucking up
Frozen air and polluted emotions
In my hometown now too close for comfort,
Where usually the distance beyond the waves of night
Laid a misty calm over the churning sea of memories.
Now my hands are tied and my mouth covered
With useless clouds of jet-lag reminding me
Of my faraway home in a foreign shore.
When tides are low under the waning moon
In Taipei of mid-winter, our leaders cursed and swore as usual
In temperature unseasonably warm and sticky
About a future corrupt and divided
By a deep strait of history
Where some would never cross
And some had never crossed.
But you are sponges held in contempt
For refusing venom and bile. Shadowy ventriloquy
From politicians slimy as squids never was up
To your taste. So, we continue to sing,
Per chance to dance sometimes, when the crazies in the night yield
their city streets to our rambling and mumbling fanciful rants.
I stumble through a deserted garden
to hear, in the shore of my fuzzy mind
New songs in a public park
On days and nights that I dreamt
I was a part of. Only in feeble lines
Of images and metaphors can I deliver
My homesick love darkened by thundering clouds
In voices always too soft to be heard
By the young eagles rushing by in the angry winds .
So to my painter friends of words and rhythm, I silently salute
In the dark hours between too early and too late.
The loneliness in this murky hour is but a façade.
Behind the broken walls we all collect the sad and absurd sands of life
From separate ways. When I leave you too soon
I may remember a few more faces, maybe not?
But your voices in the dim nights under the Milky Way
I shall silently stole and carry in my little sponge of an aging mind.
ZY
12/10/2005
3:04 am, in Taipei
Revised 1/3/2006
Frozen air and polluted emotions
In my hometown now too close for comfort,
Where usually the distance beyond the waves of night
Laid a misty calm over the churning sea of memories.
Now my hands are tied and my mouth covered
With useless clouds of jet-lag reminding me
Of my faraway home in a foreign shore.
When tides are low under the waning moon
In Taipei of mid-winter, our leaders cursed and swore as usual
In temperature unseasonably warm and sticky
About a future corrupt and divided
By a deep strait of history
Where some would never cross
And some had never crossed.
But you are sponges held in contempt
For refusing venom and bile. Shadowy ventriloquy
From politicians slimy as squids never was up
To your taste. So, we continue to sing,
Per chance to dance sometimes, when the crazies in the night yield
their city streets to our rambling and mumbling fanciful rants.
I stumble through a deserted garden
to hear, in the shore of my fuzzy mind
New songs in a public park
On days and nights that I dreamt
I was a part of. Only in feeble lines
Of images and metaphors can I deliver
My homesick love darkened by thundering clouds
In voices always too soft to be heard
By the young eagles rushing by in the angry winds .
So to my painter friends of words and rhythm, I silently salute
In the dark hours between too early and too late.
The loneliness in this murky hour is but a façade.
Behind the broken walls we all collect the sad and absurd sands of life
From separate ways. When I leave you too soon
I may remember a few more faces, maybe not?
But your voices in the dim nights under the Milky Way
I shall silently stole and carry in my little sponge of an aging mind.
ZY
12/10/2005
3:04 am, in Taipei
Revised 1/3/2006
