I love this land: if I were a bird, I would also sing with a hoarse throat: this land that was hit by the storm, this river of sadness and indignation that will surge on us forever, this endless angry wind, and the incomparable gentle dawn from the forest-then I died, and even my feathers rotted on this land. Why do I often cry? Because I love this land deeply.
Tree: a tree, a tree, standing apart from each other. Wind and air tell their distance, but under the cover of soil, their roots are growing, and in the invisible depths, they are entangled in their own roots.
The poem "Fish Fossil" is written like this
How lively and energetic the movements are, jumping in the waves and floating in the sea. Unfortunately, when a volcano erupts, or it may be an earthquake, you lose your freedom and get trapped in the dust. Hundreds of millions of years later, the geological exploration team found you in the rocks, still lifelike. But you were silent, not even a sigh. Your scales and fins are intact, but you can't move.
You are absolutely still, and you have nothing to do with the outside world. You can't see the sky and water, and you can't hear the sound of the waves. There is no life without exercise. To live is to struggle, to advance in the struggle, and to use up your energy even if you die. But you were silent, not even a sigh. Your scales and fins are intact, but you can't move.