The tides lap at the beach where the kid lies face down
Like a sleepyhead. Death
Swings in the cradle, the paradise is unattainably close

Oceans rage on across the world, shedding tears of indifference
Keep egging the ships on to set sail at night
At this hour, distant and upended dreams hang lifelessly on the moon's hook
Containers in the borderlands seal behind doors putrid, bloated corpses. Freedom is absent out of spite
The late sun, air, and water knee down together

Goodness shows off in the wind and hangs down a thread
As the fraudsters climb up in broad daylight. Spring grows thin
While barb wires and electric fences beef up beyond measure
War is raging across the land—how many times already?
Shining abyss opens up on families' dining tables
Chewing wordless corpse smells while they are hot. Layers of
Windows hide the truth; sufferings slip away gently
Lies blare ceremoniously. Then winter solstice
The world turns upside-down and forgets its mask like bats on the run
The Earth is hurt
Half of it burnt; half of it festers, yet it still dons its gaudy dress
Like a serpent devouring its own tail. The pandemic still lingers
Yet time already feels no shame

The sky tolerates no one to raise their heads; on the parched firmament
Constellations crumbled with a bang. Poets in fever
Survive alone by sipping ink
In this era where poets have declared themselves self-quarantined
People dragged by the necks applaud those that shove crowns of thorns onto their eerily smiling heads

Blackberry nightshades grow in the wasted garden; barnyard grasses run
Indeed, the world has never run short of poetry
This guy named AI writes better and faster. What's more
Black remains black with eyes closed; through a thin crack, God quietly abandons us
Poetry has to stay awake
Because none has ever promised the paradise