There is a wordless tomorrow

In which I’ll forget all the chatter

It will be like the sky clearing after a rainstorm

To the washed gray of morning

The distant mountains an ink black line

Sweeping the mists away from here

 

But today

Is still a day for cymbals

Percussionists join in the celebration

Raising a din, pounding without restraint

 

Until twilight when I am so weary

That I long for the sleep

My tongue enjoys inside my mouth

 

–Chang Shiang-hua, Taiwan