In these anxious days, I happened to read adonis's poem: My Anxiety is a Spark: Selected Short Chapters of adonis's Poetry.
He said, "I am a light room that cannot be illuminated: my anxiety is a spark on the barren hill."
the poems he wrote are quite different from those I read on weekdays.
The short chapter is short and pithy, leaving a clear spring in my life like a desert. Every poem, like the sparkling water, is not as deep as the sea, but it is a light in my heart.
I like the independence and criticism in adonis's poems. As his poem says, "I am not connected with one thing, but I take everything into my heart".
reading his book: "I don't believe in the sun or the moon, and the stars are not pillows or dreams. I believe that the ash-trees are panicking. " And "I once planted a tree and it has forgotten me." Sometimes, I always think of that dream when I was a child.
But as Anidos said, "I often dream, but my dreams don't belong to me."
I still remember when I was very young, my whole family lived in the old house. Of course, at that time, I had no concept of living conditions, but only a vague initial understanding of the world. Wooden houses and sunlight pouring down from wooden windows often make me feel that this life is long, with no life and death, no end, just an endless space.
I often have the same dream at night, which is the first dream of life. There is nothing in the dream, no plants, no living individuals, only two "trees". The curved trunk is covered with dense leafless branches, which are more like the intricate lines of the palm of your hand, like the veins of leaves. Black, bare branches. I often sleep on branches, from one branch to another. When I grow up, I don't have such a soft body anymore. I can rest on the branches quietly and feel the blood flowing quietly in my body. I never had the courage to jump from the highest branch to the ground unscathed.
Of course, I can never go back to my mother's back and sleep with my head on her shoulder. I can never rely on my mother's body to perceive the world.
I can't go back to my old house when I was a child, the eternal light and the tall furniture around me, and I can't hear the story my grandfather told his little granddaughter who was still babbling.
When you grow up, you grow up. Life is a long road with no return, and it is also a short hesitation after a dream.