Looking at the past, sorry is...
I seek not apology, nor forgiveness,
but silence.
To be born with no purpose,
is to be born without a meaning in life.
No purpose, no reason, no excuse,
as such, I live without regret.

People say I'm a rock.
Sitting here, I wait, not knowing who.
My heart ached, like ink drop in water.
The rain glow over eastern gate,
defeaning the sorrowful people.
Downed in solitary,
the muffle cannot shatter my loneliness.

By the window, the lonely petals drifted,
so did my mind.
I dare not say I am virtuous.
Experienced humiliation, I obtain humbleness.
Live plainly, before lavishly.
Life often contradict itself,
look at death, therefore comprehending life.

What is time in this desolate land…
Sitting by seashore, the world dimmed,
Sky greyed as the sea churned.
The flower once bloomed on mountain sides,
Now long withered, I know not when it blooms again.
Old age, I wait for its arrival.

Quietly, I've waited here so long,
Day after day; but now I must return.
Food is cold, so is winter,
When will you return?

I see that now the window's bright again,
Sun has dawn, food is hot,
But you are naught.

Without past, without intervention,
it is spectating.
Memories are few,
present is new,
none can see, and none can hear,
the role of a spectator.
To see yet not do,
to hear yet not say,
spectator are lonely beings.

Sleeps...
A single step feels like thousand leaps.
The people are near,
yet sounds are not here.
Fear is near,
but people are nowhere here.
Alone, the fear is severe,
with no one here,
how can I cheer?