The child on the overpass, the child on the street, the child in a distance that I cannot see. I watch, I see his light is so bright that it glows and blurs my whole vision. I keep sitting on the seat of my car, leaning on my head. I say I have no strength to grasp my fists. I see antennas on the skyline of this city, those moving objects play various sounds on these borders-- sometimes dull, sometimes sharp. I raise my head, watching those antennas, which separate the colors of the sky, all kinds of grayness, here and there. I thoughtlessly wink my eyes, and then it turns dark. I miss the lonely sunshine of summer noon, those dazzling orange sunrays falling on my long-concealed skin, bringing pain and burnt red ¡. Light, astigmatism, Morse code, probably nothing to talk about and nothing to think, and everything will pass, like the weather. Suddenly I recall that before I said in my last life I wanted to be wind, but sand is not bad either. Sand in wind, wind in sand.
--Liang Yue
2003
Category:
Work/
Work
Language: English
In Other Languages:有关《天，桥上》 Chinese
