大陆的轨迹

Hi Qinliwen, happen to read your blog, very interesting, here is some of Adora\'s poems from her poetry collection, scheduled to be published in April, enjoy!

Question


The sun dominates the day

The fishes have the lake or sea

Songs recline in our mouths

Princes in principalities;



The moon has clutches on the night

The bird has patented the tree

But West, East, North, South,

Where\'s the place for me?




Goodbye

A snowdrift in the summer,

A blooming in the fall,

Bright sunshine in the winter,

There isn\'t spring at all,



We looked up at lofty sky,

Watching birdies passing by.



Those prophets ominous,

The burnt-black crows,

But some didn\'t care,

And wiggled their toes,



Goodbye, I say, in quite a craze,

Goodbye to those wishing days.



On the sea
On the sea, we come and go

The waters toss us high and low

The fearsome figurehead is not

As the sea powerfully wrought,



What are we, but tiny stones

Others will forget our groans

What have they need to remember,

But the ways of last December?



Who would care to watch our way,

Once we have finished the day?

Who would care to hear our plea,

Once we\'ve sunk beyond the sea?


The Cage

A sparrow told me yesterday
That it was flying east
To seek its uncertain fortune
Away from man and beast;

For sparrows live in cages
That do not see the sun
And, before its life will scorn,
The master will be done;

Yet the sparrow in the tree
Must make a wary glance
For even cage-birds\' bars defeat
The killer\'s sharpened lance;

And sparrow, fat with content
Yet longing to be free
From predator, but also cage
Aren\'t you a bit like me?



Path

A path that leads me to some place
Of strange and undiscovered sort
Or, rather, a road that I can trace
To a strong, thick stone wall fort.

Should I trample the leaves again
And go on the well-traveled road?
I should know what would happen then--
I could put down my heavy load.

But should I venture on the path
Where there are many eerie sounds
Would I chance upon some thing of wrath
Or a pack of hungry bloodhounds?

Still no thought have I to that
Thing called earthly time
For years I have stood and sat
Fighting with my mind.




What majesty makes every day?

What majesty makes every day?
Who commands the bird\'s song?
What malevolence makes all the dust,
And every footpath long?

What serenity makes all the lakes
Sparkling demure?
What mischief disturbs its peace
With eternal furor?

What cleverness has shaped us
To swim in shining sea?
Well, I know one thing for sure—
It wasn\'t you or me.





One Question

A fledgling bird may chirp to sky
The ground will embrace the tree
The wet will hasten to the dry
And seagull to sea;

Humor shall stay with the clown
The kettle will harbor its tea
But, I ask, in all the town—
What is partner to me?