Sonnet 24
Feng Zhi, 1941
tr. Huiwen Zhang, 2012
Here several
thousand years ago
Everywhere
seemed already
To be our life;
Before we
were born
A singing
voice already
From fluctuating
skies,
From green
grass and pines
Sang our
fate.
Layer by
layer we suffer
Here
precisely how can we
Hear this
singing voice?
Look, that tiny flying bug,
In its flying
and soaring
Always:
perpetual life.
