The Book Of Disquiet Poem by Atid Husang

I finish it in haste, and come back from the horizon,
Carrying the quietness of night, that is the form I yearn,
I learn to go into life again. The day never
Vanish, and exists just in such a way, blind as itself.

Return to this surviving bed， to
The inner of foods. A clock is rejecting time，
I see the days cracking. But between your pain
And mine, a storm is extinguished by our sight.

We obtained our own quietness in the center of the storm.
I inhabited into dread, knocking the door of its absence,
The wind of losing blows another kind of breath.
Those remembrances are exposed in an empty afternoon,

They are speaking in a different voice,
Walking toward brutehood, with borrowed steps.
I gradually become light, but a promise returns to me.
If there is a gap, time will not disappear by itself.

Don't seek a sentence outside the real world.
Language is just living on the face of thing, it is not
A murder hiding in itself. Things walk everywhere idly,
Those secrets are not different from the desserts and tea.

'The world is a sudden, out of one's imagine.'
Taking the information, it loses its shadow, and
Becomes tardy and transient. It shatters in the crowd,
Making me disquiet; but I see myriad futures.


By Husang（ 胡 桑 ）