By Huilan

Always a deep night. I hear a stream running in the forest.
The season dies and it’s alive, a worm comes and moves away.
I stand there waiting for the moon, or a shadow under tree leaves,
like the stubborn wood for the wind; the silly bird for spring.
I don’t know what it is; perhaps a drop of water, a sound, a sight,
a road to the endless of the night, or a laughing from the heart of a child.
I don’t know what it is but standing still.

Who’s there playing my harp? Who wipes the dust from the scotch?
When stars have gone, they left the sky as a huge drop of black tear.
It drops down to my room, puts out my dreams quietly.
I can’t remember when I cried and now I really don’t care:
A huge drop of black tear of night can be also the blue sea of a new day;
of the new day, there’re sparkles in my eyes.

I hear you say to me: not long now, Huilan.
And I know, it would be soon. We would sit down on the beach,
watch the surface of the sea, waving high, just like our hearts inside.
We would see something more turbulent than waves but not say a word.
Only sit down still to listen to our breath; then, quietly,
we would hold hands in hands, look into each other’s eyes,
until all stars come back with flash tears of joy.

The night is so quiet at the moment.
Once more, your soft voice whispers my name with a gentle tone.
It is like traces on sands after breezing; as soft as silk.
It pours out to me smooth but firm, within a moment,
I was lost, and I’m found…