But he who looks down from above
sees only long slender hooks hanging down from the oil lamps.
Excerpt from a translation of the poem, “A Night of Nihilism”, by a contemporary Chinese poet, Yan Hen, that I stumbled at here.
The power from above is a frayed Silence, boutiqued on rosebuds, Premised on huge stone steps, looking Down at long slender hooks; the oil lamps Have yet to burn a permanent sizzle, the Calves of flame are tender, need rub & hue.