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2021年2月13日发(作者：弄璋是指生了)

Rush

swallows may have gone, but there is a time of return; willow trees may have

died back, but there is a time of regreening; peach blossoms may have fallen,

but

they

will

bloom

again.

Now

you

the

wise,

tell

me,

why

should

our

days

leave us, never to return?-if they have been stolen by someone, who could it

be? Where he could hide then? If they had made the escape themselfs, then

where could they stay at the moment?

I

don't

know

how

many

days

I

have

been

given

to

spend,

but

i

do

feel

my

hands

are

getting

empty.

Taking

stock

silently,

I

find

that

more

than

eight

thousand days had already slid away from me. Like a drop of water from the

point of a needle disappearing into the ocean, my days are dropping into the

stream

of

the

time,

soundless,

traceless.

Already

sweat

is

starting

on

my

forehead, and tears welling up in my eyes.

Those that have gone have gone for good, those come keep coming; yet in

between, how swift is the shift, in such a rush? When I get up in the morning,

the slanting sun marks its presence in my small room in two or three oblongs.

the

sun

has

feet,

look

,he

is

treading

on,

lightly

and

furtively;

and

I

am

caught,blankly,in

his

_the

days

flows

away

through

the

sink

when

I

wash

my

hands;

wears

off

in

the

bowl

when

I

eat

my

meal,

passes

away before my daydreaming gaze as I reflect in silence. I can feel his haste

now, so I reach out my hands to hold him back, but he keeps flowing past my

withholding hands. In the evening, when I lie in the bed, he strides over my

body, glide past my feet, in his agile way. The moment I open my eyes and

meet the sun again, one whole day has gone. I bury my face in my hands and

have a sign. But a new day begins to flash past in the sign.

What

can

I

do

in

the

busting

world,

with

my

days

flying

in

their

escape?

Nothing but to hesitate, to rush. What have I doing in that eight-thousand-day

rush,

apart

from

hesitating.

Those

bygone

days

have

been

dispersed

as

smoke

by

a

light

wind,

or

evaporated

as

a

mist

by

the

morning

sun.

What

traces have I left behind me? Have I ever left behind any gossamer traces at

all? I have come to this world, stark- naked; am I to go back, in a blink, in the

same steark-nakedness? It is not fair though: why should I have made such a

trip for nothing!

You the wise, tell me, why should our days leave us, never to return?

28March,1922

By Zhu Zi qng

中文

匆匆

燕子 去了，

有再来的时候，

杨柳枯了，

有再 青的时候，

桃花谢了，

有再开的时候。

但是，

聪明的你告诉我，

我们的日子为何一去不复返呢？有人偷 了他们罢，

那是

谁？又藏在何处呢？

我不知道他们给了我多少曰子，但是我的手确乎是渐渐空虚了 。在默默地算着，

八千多日子已经从我手里溜去了；

像针尖上的 一滴水滴在大海里，

没有声音也没

有影子。我不禁头涔涔而泪潸 潸了。

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