不是街頭風中

Not like the leaves

打旋的樹葉。

windswept through the streets.

不是死寂的海，

Nor still in the sea,

系泊的船。

a tethered boat.

一首詩不是天空之藍，

A poem is not the sky’s azure,

不是清爽的空氣。

its lucid air.

它是一根長釘

A poem is a stake

刺穿世界的心臟。

through the world’s heart,

一把森冷的刀

a glinting blade

楔入每一座城鎮。

driven through the towns.

一首詩是痛苦，

A poem is pain,

一塊耀眼的鐵，

a bright splinter of steel,

冰，一個瘀黑的傷口。

ice, a blackened wound.

它堅固

A poem is obdurate,

如鑽石的刻面。

its facets diamond.

肅穆的石頭。

Graved stone.

奔流的亞洲之河。

A surging Asian river.

一首詩不是輕聲細語

A poem is neither voice

不是翅膀掠過的痕跡。

nor winged passage.

它是一聲槍響

It’s a rifleshot

瞄准歷史，射向地平線。

at history, the skyline.

一首詩是一朵不謝的花。

A poem is no withering bloom.

用香料保存的疼。

It is anguish, embalmed.