"Apricots Died Young, Part VIII"

(This is an excerpt from a poem for your consideration.)

by Chiao Meng*

Calamity infecting a child is natural:
Blossoms mostly fail.
Still, I gather,
Ruins of the heart, a spent old man,
Cradling love’s debris in endless night.
What can be said once sound dies away?
And once hope’s dead,
Song’s useless.

*Translation by David Hinton.

(This is a portion of the poem's eighth stanza. To read the first stanza, please go here. To read the fourth stanza, please go here.)

(Photo by ganast via Flickr, using a Creative Commons License; the photo was discovered using everystockphoto.com.)

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The Heretik said...


Rick Rockwell said...

The Heretik returns! Great to see you back in action. Thanks for visiting.

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