QUICKLY
The Swallow comes and goes. The willow wilts. The peach
blossom opens and closes. Tell me smart one, why do our days go and never come
back? Did someone steal them? Who stole them? Where is it hidden? Did the days themselves conceal
themselves? Where are they now?
I don’t know how many days I’ve been given. The time is slowly leaving my hand. More than eight thosuand days have already left from my hands, much like a drop ofwater that flowsdown a needle tip to the ocean. My days drip into a raging river without sound or shadow. I feel sweaty and teary
Things that go have gone. Things that come have come. In between passing and coming, how does time pass so quickly? When I wake up in the morning, the sun beams three rays of light into my small hut. The sun has legs, it moves quickly and quietly. I absently follow the sun’s orbit. When I wash my hands, the sun escapes through the sink. When I eat, it escapes through the bowl. The sun passes away in front of the fixed gazeof my two eyes like time, it makes me more aware of the rapid escapeoftime. I try to trap the time with my hands, but it somehow manages to escape. When it is dark, I lay in bed. The time skips over my body and leaves through my feet. When I open my eyes, the sun has gone. One day has ended, another trickle of time has left me. I sigh as I hide my face. However, the flashing lightof the new day is already starting to appear.
With the flying passage of time over the entire population of Earth, what can I possibly accomplish? I can only pace up or down, try to hurridley chase down time. In my 8,000 hurried days of life, except for my hesitation, what do I have to show? The days are like smoke blown away by a random gust of wind. Time scatters. Time is covered up in a hasty mist evaporated by the sun. I leave behind scars on pieces of time, where have they gone? How can I leave a mark like a cobweb decorates a room on the highway of time? I was born into this world naked as a baby, and I will also nakedly leave this world. Why I leave this world, contrary to what I expected, to no purpose?
Listen to me smart one, tell me, our days, how can we get them back?
I don’t know how many days I’ve been given. The time is slowly leaving my hand. More than eight thosuand days have already left from my hands, much like a drop ofwater that flowsdown a needle tip to the ocean. My days drip into a raging river without sound or shadow. I feel sweaty and teary
Things that go have gone. Things that come have come. In between passing and coming, how does time pass so quickly? When I wake up in the morning, the sun beams three rays of light into my small hut. The sun has legs, it moves quickly and quietly. I absently follow the sun’s orbit. When I wash my hands, the sun escapes through the sink. When I eat, it escapes through the bowl. The sun passes away in front of the fixed gazeof my two eyes like time, it makes me more aware of the rapid escapeoftime. I try to trap the time with my hands, but it somehow manages to escape. When it is dark, I lay in bed. The time skips over my body and leaves through my feet. When I open my eyes, the sun has gone. One day has ended, another trickle of time has left me. I sigh as I hide my face. However, the flashing lightof the new day is already starting to appear.
With the flying passage of time over the entire population of Earth, what can I possibly accomplish? I can only pace up or down, try to hurridley chase down time. In my 8,000 hurried days of life, except for my hesitation, what do I have to show? The days are like smoke blown away by a random gust of wind. Time scatters. Time is covered up in a hasty mist evaporated by the sun. I leave behind scars on pieces of time, where have they gone? How can I leave a mark like a cobweb decorates a room on the highway of time? I was born into this world naked as a baby, and I will also nakedly leave this world. Why I leave this world, contrary to what I expected, to no purpose?
Listen to me smart one, tell me, our days, how can we get them back?
