我们准备着深深地领受
那些意想不到的奇迹，
在漫长的岁月里忽然有
彗星的出现，狂风乍起；
我们的生命在这一瞬间，
仿佛在第一次的拥抱里
过去的悲欢忽然在眼前
凝结成屹然不动的形体。
我们赞颂那些小昆虫，
它们经过了一次交媾
或是抵御了一次危险，
便结束它们美妙的一生。
我们整个的生命在承受
狂风乍起，彗星的出现。
The writings left behind by those whom
Your fears implore won’t have to save you;
You are not the others and you see yourself
Now at the center of the labyrinth woven
By your own steps. The agonies of Jesus or
Socrates will not save you, nor will the
Strength of Golden Siddhartha who,
At the end of the day, accepted death
In the garden. The word written
By your hand or the verb spoken
By your lips, these too are dust.
Fate has no pity,
And God’s night is infinite.
Your matter is time, ceaseless
Time. You are each solitary moment.
那些意想不到的奇迹，
在漫长的岁月里忽然有
彗星的出现，狂风乍起；
我们的生命在这一瞬间，
仿佛在第一次的拥抱里
过去的悲欢忽然在眼前
凝结成屹然不动的形体。
我们赞颂那些小昆虫，
它们经过了一次交媾
或是抵御了一次危险，
便结束它们美妙的一生。
我们整个的生命在承受
狂风乍起，彗星的出现。
The writings left behind by those whom
Your fears implore won’t have to save you;
You are not the others and you see yourself
Now at the center of the labyrinth woven
By your own steps. The agonies of Jesus or
Socrates will not save you, nor will the
Strength of Golden Siddhartha who,
At the end of the day, accepted death
In the garden. The word written
By your hand or the verb spoken
By your lips, these too are dust.
Fate has no pity,
And God’s night is infinite.
Your matter is time, ceaseless
Time. You are each solitary moment.
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