我該拿這枯瘦肉身

What should I do

怎麼辦呢？

with this withering body?

答案或決定權

Not in my hands,

似乎都不在我手中。

neither the answer nor the right to decide.

手心空寂，如這秋風

Open and quiet, in autumn breeze

一吹，掌紋能不顫動？

how can the palm not tremble?

太陽出來一曬，

Sunlight,

落葉們都服服帖帖。

these docile fallen leaves.

牽掛這塵世，只欠

I worry at this dusty world,

一位母親的溫暖——

indebted to a mother’s warmth—

比火焰低調，比愛綿長，

humbler than flame, steadier than love—

挽留著這枯瘦肉身。

cradling this withering body.

任你逃到哪裏，房屋

Wherever you run, houses

仍把你囚於四牆。

lock you in four walls.

只好看天，漫不經心，

Glance at the sky:

天色可由不得你。

that tint’s not up to you.

走著出家的路，

The road to the temple,

走著回家的路……

the road home.

我該拿什麼來比喻

What figure should I use

我與這枯瘦肉身的關系呢？

for my own withering flesh?

一滴水？不。一片葉？

A water bead, a leaf,

不。一朵雲？也不！

a cloud in bloom?

也許只是一堆乾柴，

Maybe a cord of dry firewood

落日未必能點燃它，

sunset won’t ignite,

但一個溫暖的眼神，

but with one sharp look

沒准就能讓它燒起來，

could burn

燒成灰，燒成塵，

to ash, to dust

沿著樹梢，飛天上去……

rising past the treetops.