The piecing storm turns everything into coldness,
Sweeping the leaves with roaring palms,
The earth is dancing on the orbit,
By turning itself constantly.
The ground is turning drier in the freezing air,
Together with the gusts,
To mill the falling petals,
The wheels of cars are gyrating on the road,
With the operating of desires,
The gasoline is boiled,
Turning into smog.
Passing by windows swiftly,
The sparrows call upon the sky,
The flying shades,
Turn into no trace.
Sitting in the calmness,
The inhaling turns into exhaling,
The pain turns numb,
Until finding the silence of birth and death.
Revolving on the melody,
The mind whirls in here and now,
With the non-bonding turnings,
Realizing the empty inherence.
The clouds smile to the sun,
With their fading faces,
No time to turn around,
To say goodbye…