JUN ER

REMEMBRANCE OF THINGS TO COME


a brisk wind blew my vase over last night

the flowers scattered, the vase broke in two

the pieces lay on the ground with childlike innocence

I realize that sooner or later all my household things

will shatter in the wind

one by one they’ll leave me

me, I’ll be the last to shatter

lying with childlike innocence in a small dark room:

flowers growing on my head

swallows visiting it year after year

while that brisk wind that comes down from the sky

brings storms, thunder, a rage that will never shatter
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Found atChina– Poetry International Web