Poem by Nikola Madzirov, translated into Chinese, then into English by me…
One day, someone will fold our quilts up
Sent them into the laundry room
Rubbed that last grain of salt off of it
Open up our mails, sort them by the dates
Instead of by the number of times they were read
One day, someone will move the furniture inside the house again
Just like those chess players, starting a brand new game
They will open up those old shoe boxes
With our carefully hidden buttons from our pajamas,
The still usable batteries, as well as the hungers we have of life
One day, pains will hit us heavily on our spines
Starting from the weightiness of the keys of the hotel rooms
From the receptionists’ doubts
As they’d, handed the television remote to us
And, others’ pities will start from behind our backs
Just like how the moonlight followed those wandering children about at night alone.
There’s that scent of nostalgia to this one, and, it’s about the finality of life, about the sort of legacy you want to leave behind: would you rather just be a John or Jane Doe, who’s not made any difference in someone else’s lives, someone the world forgot after you’d died? Or, would you rather do something, to make your lives more meaningful, to help someone out, so, you’ll know that you’d done something, for someone in need?
