Something dug out from the old notebooks sealed away from my college days. I don't know what kind of lofty aspirations I harbored when I wrote this poem; it seems this piece was submitted to the department magazine. Approaching graduation, looking at this poem, I really wish I still possessed that youthful vitality.
Ah, in the warp and weft woven by past memories and passing years Under the Tabebuia tree, where flowers bloom and fall, yet leaves remain as green as ever Is it a memory, or a dream? I quietly slipped into a deep slumber
Like that innocent child running across a boundless grassland, Holding the string of a kite in hand, head looking up at the sky The sky, the earth, the blowing wind, Are the nourishment this world gives us, While the soaring heart endlessly flies to ever higher places
Unreasonably, Sometimes I find myself involuntarily humming a song Like that youth playing the magic flute Languidly entering a beautiful dream amidst the mysteriously enchanting flute notes,
By the quiet lake, beside the camp tent The midsummer elves quietly handed out an invitation Fervent desires, licking tongues of fire I danced with love, hatred, anger, and infatuation by the gypsy campfire in the night,
When I am in the dark, silent barren valley Stubble flecked with the morning dew Blowing the horn, resounding through the heavens, The cold, sharp steel reflects the upturned corners of the mouth Should I be like a weather-beaten swordsman, walking through this bloody martial world? A wandering knight, treading across the desolate plains? Horses neighing, an unsheathed treasured sword inlaid with resolve, The figure of myself in my heart overlaps with that of a hero When will the frail youth grow up to don the heavy armor of responsibility? When will the exiled royalty return to wear the crown of glory? With a sweeping swing of my arm, glaring eyes and arched eyebrows burning with decisiveness, I spur my horse straight toward that dawning morning light.
