My Boy, Time

From an online blog in Chinese, translated, by me…

My Boy, Time, Who Woke

Early in the Morn with the Sun, to Fly His Kite

Pulling on the Strings, Playing with it in His Palms

The Kite that Looked Like the Sun, Hung, Up Highit was, only yesterday, when they were, so young…

In the Distant Skies Rising Up, Higher and Higher

When the String Was Clamped Tight, it’d Become, Bewildered

When the String Was Loosened, it’d Rolled Around on Its Own

In the Clouds

and now, they’re, all older, in a blink of an eye…

And that Child Who Was, Forced Home Because it Was, Getting Dark

Rolled the String Back Up into a Bundle

Hurriedly, Put the Kite Back Inside His Backpack

Leaving that Dying Light of Dusk

not my photo here…

Not Knowing Who to Glow for, Feeling Stressed Out

Then the Child

Before His Bedtime

Hurriedly, Drew a Couple of Lines on My Forehead

not my photo still…

Taken, from His Own Imaginations

The Strokes Stronger Than Steel

And I Can’t, Erase it Off

That Boy I Called Time Had

Written Older

Onto My Face Each and Every Day Slowly

And, there’s that longing of returning to the innocence of one’s own childhood years, to be able to run wild and free, to live in the daydreams of those younger years, but, you can’t, because, you’re, ALL grown up, an adult now………

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