Looking Up
At Music
(serial pieces of a long one)
City Pastoral
The Coastal
storm
Stretches
with city's hurried distresses
Always
settling ancient days
On the
ground curved by love
The
dreamland is always filled with creativity
People keep
on working
Just like
immortal flowing water
Never
knowing what bosom
The last
roam will face
Who has
designed
flame
Who has
thought of burning
In the very
beginning as the smile of belief
We’ve
lost stone-like thoughts
Under the
lure of a beautiful trap
We keep
feeling the magic of honor and dishonor
The voice
growing up in darkness
Shuts its
eyes
Before
vulgar sumptuousness
No one will
stop us
From
recalling for numerous times
Our own
guide
The piece
of vastness
Comes from
a spiritual grave
This lawn
without forest and sunlight
Is the
kingdom cultivated by your life-long journey
The ocean
of soul,
slowly mirrors
The saint
poetry of death
Wish having
left the recollection of predecessors
Is rising
from water towards a cliff
Assigning
to heaven
The
eidolon needed by human posterity
Wash
away
tolerance and doubt with hope
Here, we
will learn, with hope
To dress up
icy life
Weak love,
will
Predict us
that
Even if
wandering
Even if
lacking in the flounder of speech
You should
remain awed
To
happiness
Bricks
and
problems
Within the
breath of gurgling flowing water
Will
eventually die away like July
Move
the house to the riverside
Once you
face tender rushing feelings all day long
You will
wish no more to spend time
Fancying
food and women
History
has concealed its body
Different
vanity
In
different space, along with all original inquiry
Has gone to
sleep quietly
Gentle
night dews start to float
That’s the
dance of another power
No
prejudice can behold
That’s each
gloomy cell
Capable of
illuminating us
With its
own stage in oblivion
In varied
mazes
You will
recognize today
That not
all roads
Are only at
the far end of beautiful bright clouds
Between
desolateness and shadows
The eyes
unable to breathe, sometimes
Are more
likely to be shone by God and truth
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
2. Late Age of Industry
With the
finalization of its design out of scorching torture
Steel
accomplishes its dream beyond human expectation
All around
you, is beverage with a hundred year innermost being
In front of
an expression almost of oxygen clearness
Honesty, in
gentleness
Erected by
structuralism
Has become
for times
A murderee
of covetously eyeing height
Internal
organs of each age
Gather here
with the most outstanding promise
When
the palpus
of kids’ blood
Happens to
caress by sheer coincidence
An enormous
tobacco advertisement
The world’s
goodness and virtue
Change
right off into vacuum, and into
A wail
after the faxed passion
No one
should have
felt strange about this
All remains
of humanity
Are still
true
Infinite
desire has passed through years
And on the
subway belonging to the end of the century
In an
urgency ignorant of chastity
Is waiting
for the skin
Carefully
arranged by the multitude
And for
warriors with osteoporosis to come
This part
of sky
above the head
Remains a
thick forest grown with tips of tongue
All the
azure is
Being
disguised
Prosperously
By the
index in high fever
An auction
gavel
consolidates step by step
A set of
spiritual food at the conclusion of cold war
Transplants
afresh
With
surreptitious value
Into the
body demanding consumption
While
balance, the one we’ve been longing for
Can only
find
An online
consideration at a shopping center
All
books
Cannot
return to childhood
You seem to
never have had past
Humanity
seems to have never had land and flowers
A
lonely
eagle is
exhaustedly hovering over a viaduct
In its firm
departure with a back look
Still
expecting its heavy down-look
Can spell
out the meaning
Of some
creation and torture
From
critics’ deficient technical terms
A love
letter is
already nonexistent
Just like
the day when
One can use
no more noun explanation
To measure
Collections
to the mind
The only
thing we can do
Is to
confide with loneliness
A refusal
of consumption
A sadness
invisible
To a sexual
game
Within
others’ life we rush back and forth
On
pigeons flied by coup and evil teachings
We are
destined
To keep a
dialogue through frail nature with shadows
All day
long in front of a television
And to
converse once more
By wet
fingers
With a
supposed devil or angel
The
blade
of
civilization
Is always
So sharp
Who can
sprinkle history with perfume
Because of
the counting-down
And change bulgy price
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ |
