Eat the congee, taste the pickle
Simple fare for a simple night
The moon is shining, the air is still
The window is open but the taste is stifling.
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Du Fu's blood is the same as mine
But I cannot read him without a translation
Am I Chinese?
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What is the greatness of poetry
If not the interpretation of experience?
What is the beauty of humanity
If not the experience of the divine?
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I say I love you
But is it ok
To want the cookies
You will never send?
Can my love remain unconditional
In the face of your demands?
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