Surpassing an unreturned prolix highway of the time
With onerous cargo on the back
This nimble life-horse see
Disastrous frontier of a desert
Just a little ahead.
Exhaustion, desperation and throe of the old age
Disarray sometimes rapid music of its trotting
And the restless dust-storm of remembrances
Created after running hoofs
Once incapable of touching its tail
Now jumps over it again and again.
Its sweaty gummy hairs
Embrass the particles of remembrances
Very deeply
This Jade become helpless
Absolute helpless
Making up itself a 'Statue of dusts'.
May a State is ahead
On which highway
Procession of dusts shall forerun
And the jade shall drag its body
Being choked amidst the heavy darkness
With the blessings of that procession
To pour a strong kiss
On the last line of that nebulous State.
Really, everyone has to be like a old horse.The poem is strong to touch the sentiment.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is not just a spavined old flea-bag. This jade has heart, like Rocinante, worthy to carry the Knight of the Rueful Countenance. After wearing itself completely to the bone, its ardent spirit is still moved by the plight of those ahead. Through the dust it aims kisses at them, in memory of what they must have suffered.