a pond for human fishes,
we would belly up on a parched land.
We were born for addiction,
to wine, to drug, to sex,
to power and money,
to all sorts of collections,
to arts of all forms,
about all, to gods of all imaginations.
One thing is sure, we cannot survive
facing the grim reality of endless toil.
We need dreams to restore our minds
burdened by daily calculations.
We need to go beyond
the two ends of a tight rope of life.
Cities glittering at night are dreams,
and it’s now clear
rocks and mountains are dreams,
countless balls hanging in the sky are dreams.
All plants, crawling insects
and us, a paragon of all, are dreams
and the human history is
a long dream made of billions of dreams.
For all who are dreaming and addicted,
may you avoid a way of self-infliction,
may you not be overwhelmed by your dreams,
which may transform you to be a monster
shattering and dismantling others’ dreams.
You may make a castle perch on a mountaintop
and decorate it with all your whims,
but do it without shedding any tear and blood,
do it with a sheer power of wonder within yourself.