26 Jun 2016 – Yellow River Songs

Thirty, when I first heard Yellow river poets warnings
singing dawn’s first fragile mists, unweaving thorns from temples.
Unknotting pines from mountain peaks and endless earthly yearnings,
silently and slowly ’til the heart was once more simple.

They pointed out the mountain gate whose rusted hinges groan
from lack of use because the world would rather stay below.
For longing’s sake I stopped my ears, the aching gnawed my bones.
I could not find the way, although the way they clearly showed.

In exile here, this valley rift, where tides of progress roll.
In dreams I flee my anvil, every night a new road roam.
At dawn I haunt these city streets where none reveals their soul.
I have no other place to go, but cannot call this home.

O sing to me once more the Yellow river poet’s songs!
I still don’t know the way, but now I think I’ve found the door!
O help me scale the heights to mountain mists where I belong!
My life is almost over! I can’t stay here any more!