On the Road

July, the abandoned quarry,
The sub-sided wind and the fifty paper hawks flying pass by,
Those people who kneel before the sea,
Give up the thousand years' war.

I adjust the time difference,
Therefore I pass through my whole life.

Shouting happily for freedom,
The voice of the golden sand comes from the water,
The annoying baby inside the body is holding tobacco inside its month,
The head of the mother is wrapped up by heavy fog.

I adjust the time difference,
Therefore I pass through my whole life.

This city is migrating,
Big and tiny hotels and motels line up at the railway,
The straw hats of the travellers are whirling,
Somebody is shooting at them.

I adjust the time difference,
Therefore I pass through my whole life.

The bees in groups and in troops,
Chasing the wanderers' moving gardens,
The singer and the blind man,
Use the double glorious light shaking the night sky.

I adjust the time difference,
Therefore I pass through my whole life.

On the death covered map,
Destination is a drop of blood,
The concious stone under my feet,
Is obliterated by me.

(translated fromnpoem 在路上by Bei Dao)