The Flowers On The Midway Of A Mountain Road
/ Tiong-siong Oo
Some young men walked by the flowers
Whose purple spread beside the mountain road
They slowed down and listened to the wind breathing in their breasts
And thought in silence: picking them off should they pay for
That’s a long journey, and as life on the midway of a mountain road
It ‘s neither being just beginning nor being close to end
It’s neither good to halt, nor being so to keep the steps
And might the gossamer against the wind be the life we seek?
The figures of the forerunners had bent off the valley and disappeared
It’s said their hands hurt with the flowers they’d picked
Due to the usual pricking pins in the gossamer
Till now the fire has been heating in the blood
And till now, the wild sweet smell has been kept
Yet what will the fading flowers leave when the season passes away?
What will the naked bodies leave when the dresses are taken off?
They surely knew: either picking them off or not should they pay for
And they told,
Pick them off, for the worth of the flowers
Pick them off, for the honor of the soil