Believe me, poetry itself is a kind of sunlight
No substance has been found anywhere in the cosmos
That can break the wings of poetry.
Here’s a chance at last to meet one another,
The river in Shenzhen chuckles merrily
The sky sheds joyous tears.
Though we’ve never met before,
We can love each other with brotherly sincerity,
As if we’d lived in the same family
Ten thousand years ago.
Then, believe me, after a hundred thousand years,
We’ll still be inseparable.
Yes, there is a continual interweaving of poetry’s sunlight
While poetry’s sun and our hearts
Burn together
Warming and illuminating the cold world.

translated by Fang Dai, Dennis Ding, & Edward Morin