Hsun Lu
high wall bordering a rotten, walking through the fine dust. Other people walk alone. A breeze was up and over the wall, the branches of tall trees, their leaves wither point, stir over my head.
A breeze rises, and the dust is everywhere.
A child begs me. He is dressed in threadbare clothes like everyone else. It does not look sad but blocks my way and while I still whines.
I Like his voice, his gestures. I hate his lack of sadness, as if this were a game. I dislike the way it follows me your whining. I keep walking. Some people walk alone. A breeze rises and there is dust everywhere.
A child begs me. He is dressed in threadbare clothes like everyone else. It does not look sad but it is mute. I stretched his hand in a kind of pantomime. I hate his gesture. In addition, it may not be moved, perhaps it is their way of begging. I do not give anything. I have no desire to give alms. I am above these givers of alms. For him I have only disgust, suspicion and hatred.
borders a ruinous mud wall. Broken bricks have been piled up in the gap behind the wall there is nothing.
a breeze rises, bringing the chill of autumn through my old clothes. And everywhere there is dust.
I wonder which method should I use to beg. What voice do I speak? What kind of pantomime show if I pretend to be dumb?
Some people walk alone.
not receive alms, not even the desire to give alms.
receive disgust, suspicion and hatred of those who consider themselves superior to those who give alms.
beg very still and quiet.
receive, finally, nothing.
A breeze rises, and there is dust everywhere. Some people walk alone.
dust, dust
... ... ... ...
dust.
September 24, 1924.
drawing by Lu Hsun-ching Yan Tao
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