I was born by the river in the caress of snow mountains,
in the season of dead lotus that had driven out most saints,
Seagulls lamenting the icy cold and the angels sliding away.
while the aged oak trees loyally stood in the rage of winds,
The dusky of liquor blent in wintry rainfall and distant herbages,
That was the world I knew: ruthless, and devilishly mysterious.
My grandmother, unclothed me in the white snow,
while my mother was busy defending herself and
her shame for not producing a handsome son.
But the wind wrapped me in music, light, and words.
they were chewing in my frosty mouth in slow silence,
as I watched the crystal calligraphy of dripping rain,
and yellow fleas tirelessly annoyed the apple trees,
I cursed the insensible chills, but I loved that day.
It has all passed, in successive waves and years,
just as the meaningless ciphers of sea foam dies.
Entangled in shore sand, trapped in bitterly time
as memory ran through all its lights and shadows
then drowned in the unseen face of a young girl:
you were looming up between two blazing waters.
But then, why do I love you?
I love your sweats, your tears, and all your snows,
I dance in your blood, your pulses, and your veins,
I fight every waking day for you to smile in my dreams.
The sleeping violin is only a coffin for taciturn songs
as the fragile string with chronicle wound splits in half.
Even so, drowning and dividing in two blazing waters,
I am calling on all the earth's angels be returned to us,
the sky wide-open to assist the journey of your brave soul...