Looking at this picture of an old door, with a solid lock latched to it ---- do you feel inspired to create a short poetry about life?
The bygone glory and mixed sentiments
are two padlocks that are prone
to fade away with time and
recede into the deep corners,
waiting to be unlocked.
The pastel blue is impregnated with shadows of swords and battling soldiers
and echoed with engulfing sand blown from all directions
My nights were fitful and filled with sleepless dreams
like the Yangtze lapping away eastward
leaving behind nothing but a wall of footprints
Someone beyond the West Chamber tried persistently
to recall the stories of old town,
There are the generals and ministers, the scholars and beauties?
and onto whose blank face
did the tears drop from the wavy robes?