/ Sorrow
No masterpiece can transform me into the Ganges,
nor pacify this decrepit death,
nor remove the moldiness of a dynasty.
I remember the speeches of Plato and Seneca,
Confucius’ lobbying and Lao Tze’s wordlessness.
I remember dusky scripture halls and chaste temples.
Silence of a sword, like silence listening to a psalm.
Death, love and time become
questions, questions that do not pose the ultimate question.
I remember the wordlessness of dawn, the plenitude of a setting sun.
No masterpiece will make me forget the dark night,
forget my folly, my riotous life.
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