aya miyanaga
GOD KNOWS
- Aug 26, 2025
- 8
I would like to share an article that I really like here. It comes from Taiwan and was shared with me by my friend. I use a translator, and the results may not be very accurate, but I hope you can also appreciate it：/
In a quiet moment, you look to the left and see that each intersecting road has an end. At the end, the sea is always blue, permeated with the broad glow of the sunset. A primitive and unpretentious twilight is fully displayed. I realized that I had been infected, infected by the sharp and powerful melancholy in that unfamiliar world. Perhaps it's not melancholy, that's too difficult to understand. Perhaps it's sorrow and bitterness, the huge dark clouds enveloping me and flying away quickly. But my body and mind are infected by it everywhere. Heavy and desolate, I slowly ride my bike forward. When I'm tired, I say to myself: It seems like I've never been so tired before, but I'm still very young! I almost didn't know how to get rid of the pain, as I was in the absolutely dark passage, my eyes strongly tolerating the feeling of slaughter, because I knew it was still bright outside at that time, the sun had just risen forty-five degrees above the mountains, and the remaining bright light was slightly tilted towards the endless horizontal line to the east. That is usually the most leisurely and pleasant moment, the clearest and most pleasant time on the distant coast of Hualien. Darkness, blush, pain, sorrow, bitterness, and poetry. Those straight ditches and ponds, filled with water in spring, cannot enter the poetry no matter what. For some reason, they float and sink, finally disappearing. It will be a long, long time later before they emerge again with difficulty, becoming the most fragile web of memories in life. Whenever that image appears, I consciously tighten my heart, with intense sweetness and sourness. Perhaps others, like me, have experienced these, encountering some memorable and others that are uncertain about their choices. Can poetry help you break free from the shackles of sorrow? Does it make you abandon that black and cold coat and embrace softness and beauty? Poetry is undoubtedly a huge metaphor for you. You use it to resist sadness, experience compassion, imagine intangible joy, and pursue happiness. Poetry makes your reality's twists and turns invisible, settles doubts, clarifies the river, as if you have never encountered any obstacles. Poetry elevates your life.
In a quiet moment, you look to the left and see that each intersecting road has an end. At the end, the sea is always blue, permeated with the broad glow of the sunset. A primitive and unpretentious twilight is fully displayed. I realized that I had been infected, infected by the sharp and powerful melancholy in that unfamiliar world. Perhaps it's not melancholy, that's too difficult to understand. Perhaps it's sorrow and bitterness, the huge dark clouds enveloping me and flying away quickly. But my body and mind are infected by it everywhere. Heavy and desolate, I slowly ride my bike forward. When I'm tired, I say to myself: It seems like I've never been so tired before, but I'm still very young! I almost didn't know how to get rid of the pain, as I was in the absolutely dark passage, my eyes strongly tolerating the feeling of slaughter, because I knew it was still bright outside at that time, the sun had just risen forty-five degrees above the mountains, and the remaining bright light was slightly tilted towards the endless horizontal line to the east. That is usually the most leisurely and pleasant moment, the clearest and most pleasant time on the distant coast of Hualien. Darkness, blush, pain, sorrow, bitterness, and poetry. Those straight ditches and ponds, filled with water in spring, cannot enter the poetry no matter what. For some reason, they float and sink, finally disappearing. It will be a long, long time later before they emerge again with difficulty, becoming the most fragile web of memories in life. Whenever that image appears, I consciously tighten my heart, with intense sweetness and sourness. Perhaps others, like me, have experienced these, encountering some memorable and others that are uncertain about their choices. Can poetry help you break free from the shackles of sorrow? Does it make you abandon that black and cold coat and embrace softness and beauty? Poetry is undoubtedly a huge metaphor for you. You use it to resist sadness, experience compassion, imagine intangible joy, and pursue happiness. Poetry makes your reality's twists and turns invisible, settles doubts, clarifies the river, as if you have never encountered any obstacles. Poetry elevates your life.
