◎ The Butterfly Lingering Around Flowers (阅读4243次)|
You are not fragile by my blindness
You appear a flower, but when I discern your figure
In fact more alike a piece of jade.
Your nature is not suited for shining.
You are the debris of life,
Made me spend all my lifetime searching for you.
You are not afraid of my flame.
The fire is clacking,
Just like someone is pulling out
A tooth out of our language.
You believe in the finale
There are some clues have been overlooked.
You are sharp not only to my conceal,
But to every thing in our society.
You are not straightforward as yourself,
Just like I am not experienced as myself.
Occasionally I stagger by your sharp turn round.
I am flowing with your soakedness;
Yet you are not convinced, because those waves
Are not driven by the blues bulldozer
You are not simplified by my idealism.
You are not inflammable, yet you have other elements.
Your silhouette is solid, but sometimes could be
Melted by her weeping.
You are transparent compared with my blur;
You are my impression of the world.
You are mellow by my fondle—
It is the tangent movement on the horizontal line.
Do not ask my geometry.
You are asymmetry because of my blurry.
Nevertheless, you are almost my dizziness;
When I pick up my water, you are the crystal cup on the table.
When you bite me, I know
I am not only mature due to a piece of meat.
You use more eccentrics
To cut apart my personality completely.
You test all kinds of
Cautious methods, namely,
You are slim because of your delicacy;
You are gluttonous but not indolent.
Your cooking skills are almost all
Learned from me, but you are more successful.
You succeed out of their chaos, and
Their fairytales. You are even
Proud of all of their confusions.
You refuse to take advantage of their muddle,
Though you love fishing in troubled waters.
However, to their common sense, you say, “Pooh!”
You are more than my rich harvest.
Just like you utilize your true nature
More than my sensuality.
It seems you always lack my grinding;
Your quality is more exquisite than the powder;
If the world dies, you are the cure.
You are no smaller than one, but you are
Still an exception. You integrate
My outstanding, shivering on the twig
Like a nest in autumn wind.
Yet you do not fly. You are driven to extremes,
Maybe going to the extreme is also a journey.
Your beauty is from your imperfection,
Yet I am stunned by your non-thrilling.
Even compared with the shadow, you are the master.
You do not play with the bustling world.
You do not lie on the color flag;
You flutter, but not flow with the wind.
You are not hundreds yards away, in fact
You are close to what they mean the far-away.
When I accelerate, I find
The butterfly is dragging my hind legs.
I am aflame with the inaccuracy of the front legs,
That can not soar like a horse.