What should I do

我該拿這枯瘦肉身

with this withering body?

怎麼辦呢？

Not in my hands,

答案或決定權

neither the answer nor the right to decide.

似乎都不在我手中。

Open and quiet, in autumn breeze

手心空寂，如這秋風

how can the palm not tremble?

一吹，掌紋能不顫動？

Sunlight,

太陽出來一曬，

these docile fallen leaves.

落葉們都服服帖帖。

I worry at this dusty world,

牽掛這塵世，只欠

indebted to a mother’s warmth—

一位母親的溫暖——

humbler than flame, steadier than love—

比火焰低調，比愛綿長，

cradling this withering body.

挽留著這枯瘦肉身。

Wherever you run, houses

任你逃到哪裏，房屋

lock you in four walls.

仍把你囚於四牆。

Glance at the sky:

只好看天，漫不經心，

that tint’s not up to you.

天色可由不得你。

The road to the temple,

走著出家的路，

the road home.

走著回家的路……

What figure should I use

我該拿什麼來比喻

for my own withering flesh?

我與這枯瘦肉身的關系呢？

A water bead, a leaf,

一滴水？不。一片葉？

a cloud in bloom?

不。一朵雲？也不！

Maybe a cord of dry firewood

也許只是一堆乾柴，

sunset won’t ignite,

落日未必能點燃它，

but with one sharp look

但一個溫暖的眼神，

could burn

沒准就能讓它燒起來，

to ash, to dust

燒成灰，燒成塵，

rising past the treetops.

沿著樹梢，飛天上去……