Anthology Poem #3 (submitted to Newyorker for contest)

                                                     Hometown
   

    My hometown is getting younger and younger,
    Like a tacky cloth.
    The one that is getting older and older,
    Not only my father.
    Wipe that foggy car window,
    I clearly see the strange hometown.
    Fleeting time changes everything.
    Push the door that has been locked for a long time,
    There is no one waiting inside.
    I am like the guest who passes by from far.
    The arrogant building blocks the sun and tramples the sleeping walls,
    The sleeping walls were surrounding a lovely family.
    Colourful is easy to get bored and tasteless,
    Black and white only stays in the young.
    Like those outdated but classic old movies.
    See that clock again,
    I know this is my home.
    The wind sweeps away the leaves, leaves the soul to the spring.
    This is the hometown that belongs to me.
    Even there is more cars that trample you,
    I want to guard you forever.
    But I do not know the boat of tomorrow stops where,
    I will come back to you peacefully at the end.
    Under the soil will becomes the place that I will not abandon,
    I will come back to you peacefully at the end.