《月光》（中英）

《月光》

月亮挂在楼群上方，

光落下来，铺在阳台、窗框、空调外机上，

白得发亮。

风从街口钻进来，

先撞上烧烤摊的铁架，火星抖了一下，

油滴在炭上炸开，

孜然味顺着夜色往上飘，

整条街都慢慢热起来。

外卖骑手贴着地面滑过去，

尾灯一闪一闪，

在夜路上拖出一小段红光。

他没抬头，月亮也没动，

各忙各的。

高楼一排排站着，

窗子亮起、熄掉、又亮起，

有人在里面走动、停下、再走动，

也有人把一天的疲惫

慢慢放进房间的角落。

你抬头看月亮，

它安静地挂着。

云从它前面走过去，

边缘亮了一下，

又恢复原来的样子。

街上的声音一阵阵涌上来：

便利店门铃的“叮咚”，

出租车刹车的轻响，

谁家电视里断断续续的笑声，

还有楼下那只流浪猫踩到塑料袋的脆响。

夜越来越深，

风带着一点凉意。

烟气散了，又被新的火气顶上来。

整座城市慢慢起伏，

呼吸落在你胸口。

月亮一直在，

不说话，也不偏向谁，

只是把光落下来，

照着每一个还没睡的人。

Moonlight

The moon hangs above the crowded rooftops.

Its light spills down, spreading across balconies, window frames, and air-conditioning units—

a white so pure it almost glows.

A wind slips in from the mouth of the street,

first striking the iron frame of a barbecue stall. Sparks tremble.

Oil drips onto the coals and bursts into flame.

The scent of cumin rides the night upward,

and the whole street slowly warms.

A delivery rider glides low along the pavement,

his taillight flickering,

dragging a brief red streak across the dark road.

He doesn’t look up. The moon doesn’t move.

Each tends to its own business.

The high-rises stand in rows,

windows lighting up, going dark, lighting up again.

Inside, figures move, pause, move once more.

Others quietly set down the fatigue of the day

in the far corners of their rooms.

You lift your head to the moon.

It hangs there in silence.

A cloud drifts across its face;

the edge flares bright for a moment,

then settles back into its quiet shape.

Sounds rise from the street in waves:

the bright ding-dong of a convenience-store door,

the soft hiss of a taxi’s brakes,

fragments of laughter from someone’s television,

and below, the sharp crackle of a stray cat stepping on a plastic bag.

The night deepens.

The wind carries a touch of coolness.

Smoke drifts away, only to be pushed upward again by fresh flames.

The whole city breathes slowly,

its rhythm falling against your chest.

The moon remains—

never speaking, never choosing sides—

simply letting its light fall,

covering everyone still awake.