By ChenChen XiangYin, Translated by Qiang Meng
How does love wither into misery? Her petals
are the unread words on wooden strips.
Under the light, she promises to be true
until our hair turns gray.
Her ivory bud transforms
into a ward for the innocent.
The cold walls surround this room,
ruled by an old pillow’s perfume.
Unable to forgive herself for blooming—
Once she expresses, once she shouts,
she becomes the unexpected stem,
a voiceless maiden in the attire of wounds.
Her scepter is the surplus of snow.
We cut our heels to fit the glass slipper.
Dipping a toe into the water.
A low sound of pitch-pot echoes in the vase.
白玫瑰
怎么爱得惨败了？片片的累牍
似要诉说些什么。刚在灯下
明明也是牺牲过真意，白过头的
象牙色的骨朵，如今却化身为
安置天真的病房。冷墙围拥
陈旧的枕芯香统治了整座居室
她走不出那弥久的绽放之悔
一旦表现，一旦呐喊，就成了
节外生枝的哑女，素衣裸露创伤
含苞的权杖成雪的盈余。为了长大
我们把自己削足适履地，倾戴进花瓶
脚尖入水，发出了投壶的轻响