Papo Franco a Mano

Zhōngguó, my eyes have yet to see your dawn,my heart has already wandered through your mist.

Somewhere between dream and memory, your name hums like an ancient melody.

I feel your mountains breathe—their stone hearts steady with centuries of patience.I hear your rivers murmur—carrying whispers of poets and lovers downstream.

Your red sun rises, and even from afar, its warmth reaches the corners of my unvisited soul.

Soon, my footsteps will meet your soil, but even now—I know you.

I have always known you.