Let life be as beautiful as summer flowers.
Life is frivolous again and again.
Frivolous and tireless
-inscription
one
I hear echoes, from the valley and the heart.
Harvesting an empty soul with a lonely sickle
Repeated refusal, repeated happiness.
There are swaying oases in the desert.
I believe in myself.
Born like bright summer flowers
Without fear, the devil is like fire.
Bear the burden of heartbeat and breathing.
Enjoy it forever
two
I hear music, from moonlight and body.
Assist extreme bait to capture ethereal beauty.
Life is full of intense and naive.
There are always memories throughout the world.
I believe in myself.
Death is like a beautiful autumn leaf.
Don't be full of confusion and gestures.
Even if it withers, it will retain the pride of plump muscles and clear bones.
Extremely mysterious and profound
three
I hear love, and I believe in love.
Love is a struggling blue-green algae.
Like a sad wind
Through my bleeding veins
Belief in the garrison years
four
I believe I can hear everything.
Even foresee separation and meet another self.
And some moments are impossible to grasp.
No matter east or west, what is lost will never come back.
Look at my hairpins, they are blooming all the way.
I missed some frequently and was deeply moved by wind, frost, rain and snow.
five
Prajna paramita, let me know.
Life is like summer flowers and death is like autumn leaves.
What do you care about having?
Attached:
The English translation of The Farthest Distance in the World is Tagore's. It is a well-known poem both at home and abroad, and it is a common-sense problem known to people who study literature. Zhang Xiaoxian didn't write it.
Zhang Xiaoxian may have translated this poem, but at most he should be regarded as a translator, not an author. Then you can say that the translators of foreign famous works are all the authors themselves.