Poems of Meng Jiao
Moths to the Flame
Before the lamp, two moths dancing.
Loathing life, what a flutter they make.
Do you think it came to them this was a
Fierce brightness rather than an evil destruction?
If Heaven were really only a hundred feet up,
I'd go myself and cover up this full moon.
What an extraordinary poem. It speaks volumes (and that's something I thought I would never write). It's as if the struggles of an entire life were congealed into the cry of a single poem. And like mortal existence itself, there will never be any certainty here.