In my dream, I saw a turtle from a distance,
lying quietly on a riverbed long gone dry.
Its limbs reaching skyward - 
A mute stone sculpture, left behind by time.

It made no cry,
only moved in slow and aching silence.
A private war 
against the weight of the world,
against the mockery of gravity.
Inch by inch, with nothing but will,
It fought to return
To the softer side of the world.

And it turned.
No miracle.
No hands to help.
No applause.
Just the soundless strength of its own becoming,
bringing that heavy shell back to the earth. 

It walked toward me,
step by ancient step,
as if crossing a thousand years of stillness.
I cupped water in my hands - 
A silent respect for the one who had returned.
It drank, slowly, like sipping a mercy long withheld. 

Then it turned again and left.
No words.
No looking back.
Just the steady grace of one who knows where it must go.

And I - 
Stood there, something trembling in my chest,
As if the part of me,
Once bruised beneath the flesh,
had also
learned to turn,
and start afresh.

夢中，我遠遠望見一隻海龜，
靜靜躺在乾涸的河床邊，
四腳朝天，
像一座失語的石雕，
被時間遺忘了。

牠沒有呼救，
只是默默地、緩慢地掙扎，
像一場沒有觀眾的戰役，
一分一分地擺脫重力的嘲弄，
想將自己翻回世界溫柔的那一面。

終於，牠翻了過來。
沒有奇蹟，沒有掌聲，
只用牠自己的力量，
讓那龐大的殼
再次貼近土地。

牠朝我走來，
一步，一步，彷彿跨越了千年的靜默。
我捧水給牠，獻上我對牠由衷的敬意。
牠低頭啜飲，如同飲下那口遲來的慈悲。

牠沒有停留，緩緩轉身，
走向牠該走的地方。
而我站在原地，
心中微微震盪，
像是，曾經掙扎的自己，
終於，也學會了翻身和前行。