A Stranger

A Stranger

Birds are chirping, resting on a tree.

The dew in the air complements daily groove.

The streets, and the meadow all are freed.

Free to live, free to doom.

 

A stranger —

Passed me by in that street.

He was not like Eliot,

Nor was I ––

 

But the ray of sun is layered.

Each layer I see from different angles.

And the number of birds chirping on that tree

Are counted in the labyrinth where I live.

 

A labyrinth made of glass,

Of fragile but ferocious glass.

And I go on with my life,

Hoping that I’m not Eliot.

 

But faraway in the labyrinth I can see

The meadow and the streets all are freed

Staring and calculating the lives on the street

And stoned by the sound of birds chirping.

 

A stranger —

Passed me by in that street.

I knew he was not like Eliot,

Because all this he ignores and leaves.

Written by,
Wen Xi