That night, I listened to Brahma sing all night, not for enlightenment, but for you.
That January, I turned all the prayer tubes not to cross over, but to touch your fingerprints.
That year, I kowtowed and held dust, not to worship Buddha, but to keep your warmth.
At that time, I crossed hundreds of mountains, not to repair the afterlife, but to meet you on the road.
At that moment, I became immortal, not for longevity, but for your happiness and peace.
2
That day, I closed my eyes in the fragrant fog of the temple and suddenly heard the truth in your eulogy.
That January, I shook all the prayer wheels not to cross over, but to touch your fingertips.
That year, I kowtowed to climb the mountain, not to see you, but to stick to your warmth.
At that time, I turned the landscape into a stupa, not to repair the afterlife, but to meet you on the road.
three
On that day, I closed my eyes in the fragrant fog of the temple and suddenly heard the mantra you recited.
That January, I shook all the prayer tubes not to cross over, but to touch your fingertips.
That year, I kowtowed on the mountain road, not to see you, but to keep your warmth.
At that time, I crossed mountains and rivers to become a stupa, not for reincarnation, but to meet you on the road [1]
Note: This poem was not written by Cang Yang, but the lyrics of a song "The Believer" included in Zhu Zheqin's "Yang Jinma". ※.