Shattering is the sole gloom I could have,
Trembling on a drop,
Burning with a grape-taste wave,
Stirred, brain in bend of blank rope.
Such as piles of empty under a chair,
Moaning letters I could never shout
Alas——day light is near,
a burning bloom is time being out.
How dare I hate to be devoured?
Showering in red shall be a bless.
When a imperial tops on blood,
Sunflowers only dare wake in darkness.
Be quick, run while the night is still on,
Voice reborn, in an endless tone.
(This is a poem about freedom of speech. A critique from utopian perspective to nowadays people's fear of speaking for their soul. True words should never speak until one's are drunk, it is pathetic)
YOU ARE READING
Tigress from the east
ŞiirA poetry collection written by a Chinese girl. Biggest life goal of her: sitting in perfect balance of daylights and nights, back towards a mysterious naked tree, a cup of chai is better than coffee. Thinking, turn a being as living
