Your sad words were bright years ago:
“My despair twists my heart tight,
And every playwright I know
Plays the drama of our dark night.
Let us carry what we have gained thus far,
And let us now begin a new journey,
To the skies that possess shiny stars
To the land that finds our talents worthy.”
And my overseas words were also bland:
“My dearest brother-in-land!
Our hearts are also fastened tight,
And our playwrights of the light
Are only broken shards of the sun mired
Into the heart of the night.
Oh my dear brother!
How easy you decided,
How naive and lightheaded you decided
To migrate
From our own old stinky share,
And its deserted air.
How easy you used words,
And not a sword to fight.
Did not you know
How many men migrated
To the same endless trouble before ?
Oh, darn beautiful life!
What is wrong with you?
Wherever on earth
We make homes,
Our sky is always colored death.
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