When reading, I am living awake.

   ‘Reading books is like looking at paintings: without doubting, without hesitating, with self-assurance, one must find beautiful that which is beautiful.’ – Vincent van Gogh in a letter to his brother Theo, 5 August 1881

           So easily I lose in the tiresomeness of routine tasks,

           Often forget to stop to figure out where I am going.

           One day slides swiftly after  yesterday,

           It is entangled in the chores of trifles slothfully.

           I am not able to slow down my steps,

           Due to my frightening of the jungle society.

           

        When I open a book,  

         Rainer Maria Rilke or Dickinson Emily, 

         Just as lie down on the lawn of garden,

          My soul rest in the words finally

             Released from the prison of  duties and sould-be,

            My thoughts swinging away through the bushes of  meaning,

            A beam of sun light shines upon it.

            Reading beside flowers,

             Flowers flourish  in my heart   tranquilly.