就算我坚如磐石,也是要被Adonis诗的浪击碎了,然后再与万物相连。
PSALM
I toy with my nation.
I see its future glimpsed through the eyelashes of an ostrich. I toy with its history and days and fall on them like meteor and storm. On the other side of daylight I begin its history again.
A stranger to you, I reside on the other edge, a nation that belongs only to me. In sleep and in waking, I open a blossom and live inside it.
It s necessary that something else comes alive. This is why I open caves under my skin for lightning to charge, and I build nests for it to reside. It s necessary that I cross like thunder through sad lips parched like straw, through autumn and stone, between skin and pores, between thigh and thigh.
This is why I sing, Come to me, shape that suits our dying.
This is why I scream and sing, Who will let us mother this space, who is feeding death to us?
I move toward myself and toward ruins. The hush of catastrophe overtakes me-l am too short to circle around the earth like a rope, and not sharp enough to pierce through the face of history.
You want me to be like you. You cook me in the cauldron of your prayers, you mix me with the soldier s soup and the king s spices, then pitch me as tent for your governor and raise my skull as his flag-
Ah, my death
Come what may, I am still heading toward you, running, running, running. A distance the size of a mirage separates you from me.
I rouse the hyenas in you and I rouse the gods. I plant schism within you and enflame you with fever, then I teach you to travel without guides. I am a pole among your cardinal directions and a spring walking the earth. I am a trembling in your throats; your words are smeared with my blood.
You creep toward me like lizards as I am tied to your dirt. But nothing binds us and everything separates us. I ll burn alone and I ll pierce through you, a spear of light.
I cannot live with you, I cannot live but with you. You are tidal waves inside my senses; there is no escape from you. Go ahead scream, the sea, the sea! But be sure to hang above your thresholds beads made out of the sun.
Rip open my memory, search for my face under its words, search for my alphabet. When you see foam weaving my flesh and stone flowing in my blood, you will see me then.
Shielded as if inside a tree s trunk, present and ungraspable like air, I will never surrender to you.
I was born inside the folds of lilac, grew up on an orbit of lightning, and now live between light and grass. I storm and I waken, I gleam and cloud, I rain and snow. The hours are my language and daylight is my homeland.
(People are asleep and only when they die do they awaken) or as it has been said, Never become conscious in your sleep, otherwise you will die. Or as it will be said . . .
You are dirt on my windowpanes, I must wipe you off. I am the morning coming down, the map that draws itself.
Still, there is a fever inside me that burns for you all night through
and I wait for you
in the shell of night by the shore
in the hum roaring from the depth of the sea in the holes in the sky s cape
in linden and acacia
among pines and cedars
in the underbelly of the waves, in salt
I wait for you.
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