In Pursuit (Melancholy Whispers)

I hide in my small home,

tossing and turning,

unable to sleep through the night.

I gaze at the starry sky,

asking the heavens.

No matter how devout I am,

I still remain silent,

only flashing with

cold eyes.

In the mist,

I take heavy steps,

arriving at the lush wheat fields,

asking the seedlings,

why are you still so serene,

do you know that

people are experiencing

a senseless calamity.

The seedlings wave their hands,

you don't need to ask me,

the poison people have sprayed,

I can no longer bear.

The once-flowing river,

is waiting for me to examine it.

The dry riverbed,

has long been filled with weeds.

A muddy voice

is telling,

do you remember

decades ago.

The water flows clear,

with the croaking of frogs.

Scales swim,

along the fragrant willow banks.

In a pitch-black night,

streams of poisonous water,

flowing downstream,

destruction of all living beings.

From then on,

it became today.

The irresistible desolation,

searching for new answers.

Why do birds cry,

the small birds touching the net,

struggle and scream,

piercing is

the farmer's revelry.

I come to my grandfather's tomb,

expressing endless sorrow and lament.

You are a skilled physician,

challenging death for a lifetime.

Treating the poor,

never for money.

To save a dying woman in childbirth,

you blinded your eyes.

I call out to you again,

now the plague is rampant,

what should I do?

I cannot wake the sleeping grandfather-

pouring my sorrow into

lethargic and drowsy old man.

With a Taoist and Buddhist demeanor,

appeared suddenly,

leaving a leaf of paper.

Ha!

It must be a legendary medicinal formula,

impatient anticipation.

I eagerly chase after it,

calling out loudly.

A loud thump,

awakened from the dream.

That hateful old woman,

destroyed my wish.

My wife's quiet voice,

grandfather's formula,

can only treat the diseases of that time,

it cannot treat today's greed.

My heartache,

let me ask the heavens again.

Without waiting to question,

he unexpectedly

shed tears.

The cold wind carried with it fine rain,

whining softly.

Poor people!

Forgotten their original intention,

what do they seek?

I,

remain silent,

woefully!