“The Child” by Rob Chen

[羅拔]

“The Child”
Written and translated by Rob Chen


Yet he sits in a maple tree,
Unaware of the coming Fall.

Always weeping, he wipes his tears
With the back of his hand
On which red stripes overspread.

What is home to him?
Winebottlesbrokenglassbruisesscreams.
In the air, a demon is whirling,
Whom he dares not look into the face,
Is chanting dreadful incantations.

So he still sits in the maple tree,
Unaware of the coming Spring.