a saturday afternoon

 In this afternoon,
The tree is only what I want to talk to,
But wind can hear me.
After bewitched by a black bird,
Which stand on the roof,
As a philosopher,
I launch to wonder—
Why I am here?
When I arrived?
As if I have been here
For such a long time that
It is merely a dream without beginning.
At that moment,
Which seems endless,
I hear the chorus of rain and leaves.
Then, a voice comes into my ears:
It is a metaphor rather than a dream,
All realities here are from your memories.
I feel like a statue
in this alley, By the side of the staircases,
Just think for a while,
A million of dusks have passed by.