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Self

Not knowing which world to call home,
He chose an arbitrary tongue and creed,
Pitched an improvised tent on sand.
Beneath the canopy of a little star,
He began his heart's commerce with things:
was that the real me?

By chance on his long trek he encountered an idol,
Assumed the semblanceof a worshipper,
Calling these men friends , those men enemies,
Deploying emotions in their appropriate places.
The little shop of his life throve:
was that the real me?

After a spell of prosperity he went broke,
As if he had toppled his own dynasty.
The world cold-shouldered him, ridiculed him, punished him,
And yet all he had lost was his crown.
Lying awake at night he brooded:
was that the real me?

Meanwhile another world was posting bills for a missing person.
His disappearance surprised the vacant room
Where another dream was waiting for him to dream,
And numerous rumours were ready to give him a shape
Hinting at an unwritten biography:
was that the real me?

自己

不知哪个世界才是他的家乡,
他选择了这种语言,这种宗教,
他在沙上搭起一个临时的帐篷,
于是受着头上一颗小星的笼罩,
他开始和事物作着感情的交易:
不知那是否确是我自己。

在征途上他偶尔碰见一个偶像,
于是变成它的膜拜者的模样,
把这些称为友,把那些称为敌,
喜怒哀乐都摆到了应摆的地方,
他的生活的小店辉煌而富丽:
不知那是否确是我自己。

昌盛了一个时期,他就破了产,
仿佛一个王朝被自己的手推翻,
事物冷淡他,嘲笑他,惩罚他,
但他失掉的不过是一个王冠,
午夜不眠时他确曾感到忧郁:
不知那是否确是我自己。

另一个世界招贴着寻人启事,
他的失踪引起了空室的惊讶,
那里另有一场梦等他去睡眠,
还有多少谣言都等着制造他,
这都暗示一本未写成的传记:
不知那是否确是我自己。

2016-06-23

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