English Rendering
The oil lamp's duel with rats shadows my inkstone,
A waning moon, crows' dirge, far bugles moan.
Exiled where rivers meet—poverty's lease,
Mountains shut—yet dreams fold space to hometown's peace.
Summer anxieties breach my crimson core,
All deeds dissolve into temples' silver sore.
Who'll lend me wings to outrace homing birds?
No more delays—just the horizon's blurred words.