Translated…
There Came, the Coughs of a Field Maple
Outside My Windows
And Perhaps, it’s a Hymn Sung by the Leaves, Mourning Their Deaths
Suddenly, I Hear
The Footsteps of a Panther
Crossing Over the Pillows, Stealthily, Entered into My Dreams
That Sound, Must’ve Made its Escape Out of the Ancient String-Bound Books
With that Bitterness from the Tears that the Midnight Cried in Silence
And, the Only Word
That’s Made its Way into My Ears Was
Autumn
still falling, and it won’t stop, until, it’s, completely, empty…not my photo here…
Can’t Hear that
Scent of Sorrow After the Clock on the Walls Turned Rusty
But I Can See, Those Fallen Wrinkles from the Walls
It’s Time Now
I’d Listened, with a Quieted Heart
The Sound of Time, Panting, as it’d, Marched Backwards in Swift Tempo
So, this, probably reflected how the narrator wished that time can be turned backwards, so s/he can get something that’s already lost back again, and, there’s, that scent of regret in all of this, of how quickly the time passes, and how we can’t, get what we’d already lost back again…