我的悲伤不是喷薄而出如同庞贝的火

我的悲伤不是喷薄而出如同庞贝的火，       
它用风和雨和梦的姿态将我融化。
我融化，如同蜡烛，
灯芯把挣扎的心系在躯干上。
My sorrow is not spurting out like Pompeii’s fire,
It melts me in the form of wind and rain and dream.
I melt, like a candle,
struggling heart sewn to the body by a wick.

我的声音滴落，缄默在风里。
阵雨向寂静里堆满回声，把所有回应的通道占领。
而梦缠绵总也不离去，
冰凉的手像雾气覆盖我的眼睛。
My voice dripped, fading away in the wind.
The rain filled silence with echoes, occupying all the channels of response.
And dreams would not leave,
Cold hands like fog covered my eyes.

我遂滴落了我的骨骼与血肉，自由与魂灵。
Then I dripped my flesh and bones, freedom and soul.

七月的房间里不只住着流火的幽灵，
它挤满了压抑的尖叫，和蜷缩的影。
没有门和窗，
悲伤以一位老者的形象蹒跚徘徊在黑暗里。
Not only ghosts of Antares live in the room of July,
It’s packed with muted scream, and huddled shadow.
No doors nor window,
Sorrow lingers in the dark as the figure of an old man.

他说，死去的人生活在灰烬里，
光阴踏在他们的眼睑上。
而你，
你是那颗，被判处了极刑的烧焦的星星。
He says, the dead are living in the ashes,
Time steps on their eyelids.
And you,
You are the one, burnt star, which was sentenced to Death.