April 25(th)
On the long road, I walked towards the continuous hills. At first, it seemed like an ordinary encounter. If there is not a long-lost hope in my heart, I may have missed the faint information flow that once told each other in the wind and clouds.
The April wind blew, and the mountains were calm and smiled at me. In his arms, different shades of grass and branches of the same color danced with the wind.
I gradually approached the mountains, just hoping to know his mood at the moment. There was a vague whisper in the forest. At the end of April, life is brewing an aromatic change, a disturbance that cannot be completely predicted.
May 8
After the deep call, the whole world was shrouded in the shadow of snow-white flowers.
The sky is clear, the mountains stretch, and clusters of white flowers are like flowing rivers. It seems that all life in the world should come by appointment. At this moment, in the sunshine as transparent as honey, they cheered at the same time and rotated at the same time, turning into countless floating points.
Such an afternoon full of white flowers always feels deja vu, and always feels that it is an aggregation that can be put into any kind of time and space. It can be put into the Book of Songs, Chu Ci, classicism and post-impressionism-there should be such an afternoon and such an early summer in any beautiful record of mankind.
There is always such an early summer, there are always sunny days, and white flowers are in full bloom at the top of the tree. There is always a woman in red walking through the green field, and the breeze takes up her skirt and hair tips. There are fresh tea, flowers and thin sorrel in the field.
Snow-white flower shadows and winding paths appear repeatedly in poems and paintings, and all the light and shadow and all the joys and sorrows are clear dreams of predecessors. I don't know which autumn is the flower that blooms for me today. Is the love I have been insisting on all my life a story written in a book as early as 1000 years ago?
The mountain finally moved in May, holding me in my arms with infinite tenderness. The moment I longed for finally came, only to find that in his arms, in the depths of the jungle, tung flowers were blooming like brocade.
May 1 1
Is it true that life can only be scattered and withered after a moment of gathering?
At the moment of turning around, tung flowers kept falling. The knot tightly tied in my heart slowly loosened, and the mountain was beside me. According to the tide and moonlight, I looked down and thanked him softly for every beautiful day and quiet night. From then on, I only remember that under the snow-white flower shadow, there is a road that won't let you come to an end. There is all the happiness in the world that comes late, but you insist on ending it in a hurry.
May 15
Tung flowers are all gone, and there is still a soft sound of falling flowers in the forest. Back to the long road, I don't know who to prove this sadness to.
Surrounded by infinite silence and indifference, every tree retreated to its original corner. I looked back at Yiyi and looked at him. The peak has passed. If I keep walking, it should be a smooth road, no attachments, right? The mountains were silent and refused to answer me again. In the twilight, they seem to forget how naive and pitiful the mountain was when it was in bloom.
I had to go back and wait for the time to pass, hoping to forget all this like him. However, why can I still hear the sound of tung flowers falling in the deserted forest in the dark night? Why? Flowers are gone, and there is still the sound of flowers falling in my heart.
After all the flowers have fallen, there is still the sound of flowers falling in my heart, one by one, gently falling on the barren mountain.
author
Xi Murong, a Mongolian, is a contemporary painter, poet and essayist. Originally from Chahar Province, Inner Mongolia.
1963 graduated from the Fine Arts Department of Taiwan Province Normal University in West Murong, and 1966 completed his further study at the Royal Academy of Art in Brussels. He has won many awards such as the Royal Belgian Gold Medal and the Brussels Municipal Government Gold Medal. He has created more than 50 kinds of poems, essays, picture albums and anthologies, and poems such as Qilixiang, Youth without Complaints and A Flowering Tree have become classics.
Xi Murong's works mainly focus on love, life and homesickness. They are beautiful in writing, elegant and transparent, lyrical and smart, full of true love for life, which has influenced the growth of a whole generation.
Writing emotion
Xi Murong's poems mainly focus on love, homesickness, time and life, and the expression of love has become the first theme of Xi Murong's poems. In these feelings of love, there are sweetness and sadness. Xi Murong experienced the tenderness in life from a delicate perspective unique to women.
Classic sentences
Looking back, I suddenly found that all my efforts in this life were just to satisfy the people around me. In order to win the praise and smile of others, I put myself into all the shackles of all patterns with trepidation. On the road, I suddenly found myself with only a vague face, a road that I can't turn back. ? -selected from monologues