Foshan
Spring
The kapok flowers bloom high above,
Red like flames.
Plumeria falls
Into the old streets and alleys.
Back then, the city was still slow.
Buildings were not tall.
Roads were not wide.
There wasn’t much material wealth.
There were a few toys.
But there was so much laughter.
While somewhere else sirens wailed,
I cashed butterflies.
…spring…
Was my first ten years.
Poor,
Yet abundant.
Summer
From ten to twenty…
Desks.
Playgrounds.
The lights of evening study halls.
I moved
from innocence
toward awareness.
I began to have my own thoughts.
I began to ask why.
The city was sprouting too.
New malls.
New skyscrapers.
New neon lights.
When the world argued in the news,
My world expanded in classrooms.
…summer was hot…
… dreams were hot too…
Autumn
From twenty to thirty…
News continually appeared on screens,
But the street below still smelled of roasted sweet potatoes.
Heartbreak.
Career setbacks.
The collapse of ideals.
I fell into a low valley.
And the city
Changed every month,
Renewed every street.
Overpasses rising.
Renewed every street.
Overpasses rising.
Subways stretching farther.
As the city grew taller,
It carried my shadow upward too.
Even when I felt lost,
This ground is still beneath me steadily.
…the contrast was striking…
…Like leaves blown by the wind…
Autumn
is pain,
But also harvest.
Winter
From thirty to forty…
No longer rushing to run.
No longer rushing to prove.
Beginning to slow down.
Beginning to ask myself:
Who am I?
Where am I going?
Winter is not an ending.
It is gathering strength.
Preparing the soil
For the next spring
Then Foshan and I will enter together.