2015年5月1日 星期五

To Us Who Are Made Up

譯:Unk


Speechless always is cosmos.


In every present firm or loose
At countless intersections between dreams and reality
Within the aggregation of consciousness, sweet, bitter, then rotten


People cultivate boisterously
Their words are fewer gradually
In learning docility
They leave when the joy begins


Simultaneously we talk, with voice
Twisting our bodies and showing off our tongues
“Let’s record,” said we
Every moment is history, infinitely
Record until annihilation
Which is, I understand, burning
And the burnt. That kind of
Truth


Describing while described
Front and rear painted with colours
One flock impacts on the same flock
Before the one and only speechless Mother
We’re on the same team
Cosmos is on the same team


After comprehending the impossibility of leaving
I’ve written some letters
To us who are made up
We may burn or preserve them after read
Or authenticate, or refurbish, or hide
An accomplishment anyway


Then speechless continually

As cosmos.

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