A Small Path

A poem, translated…

The Path Followed the Exterior of the Fences, Entered into the Woods on Its Own

Is it, Trying to Escape from the Watchful Eyes of the Windows?

Or, to Hear the Practice Calls of the Horns?

not my photo…

Or, is it, Heading into the Woods, to Help Bring Back that Lost Dog?

The Wind that Blew Hard, with the Trees, Bent, Welcoming it By

It’d Become More and More Slender, as it Trekked Through the Woods

And, the Footprints and the Fallen Leaves Became its Primary Diet

It’d Used the Thinning Yarn, to Protect the Neck of the Hills

As it’d, Flipped Through the Cliffs, It’d Stared at the Tragedies of Man

It’d Put Up with the Jaundice Face of the Autumn

not my photo…

Wore the Wig of the Hilltops, Trekking onto the Peaks

Nobody Knows, What It’s about to Do?

As the Night Falls

It’d Become This Cobra Under the Moon, Ready to Attack

Slowly, Lifting Its Head on the Mountaintops——

Is it, Trying to, Outdo Itself

Wanting to Give that Dark Night, Holding the Shield, the Moon

One, Deadly Strike?

not my art…

This, is a very creative way to describe the night, isn’t it, the poet used a ton of imageries, a ton of personification, to make the poem come alive for the readers, and that, is a good poet, using words, to paint a picture, an imagery, of what s/he wanted the readers to see…

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