In a Hurry
By Zhu Ziqing
Swallows have left, but they will fly back; willows have wilted, but they will turn green again; peach flowers have withered, but they will resume their blossom; however, my Smart, can you tell me why our days will never return once they leave? Maybe they were stolen by someone: who’s that? Where were they hidden? Maybe they got away by themselves: where are they going?
I have no idea how many days I was offered; however my hands are turning empty. Silently I counted that 8 thousand plus days have slipped away among my fingers; like a drop of water on the pin falling into the sea, my days blend into the stream of time, without sound and also shadow. I felt my forehead sweaty and my eyes filled with tears.
Something goes while something comes; what a hurry between coming and going? When I got up this morning, I saw sunshine go into the room. The sun had feet and it moved softly, and I turned with it aimlessly. As a result-when you wash hands, time goes away in the basin; when you have meals, it goes away in the bowl; when you are in silence, it slips away before your staring eyes. I sensed its hurry, so I reached out my hand to block and stop it, only letting it pass beside my seizing hand. At night, I lie in the bed; it efficiently strode over my body and flied away by my foot. When I open my eyes and see the sun again, I find another day just slipped away. I sighed about it. However the shadow of new coming days flashed away in my sigh.
What can I do in this bustling world with my days flying away in escape? Just wander and hurry. In more than 8 thousand of days, what else have been left besides wander? The bypast days are like light smoke blown away by breeze, and like mist evaporated by morning sun. What trace have I left? Have I ever kept any trace like a hairspring? I came into this world nakedly, shall I go back there in the same way in such a short time? But I can't keep calm, why do I be born in vain?
My Smart, tell me why our days have left us without return?
March 28, 1922