"Romance is pierced by drops of water"
She did not grow from daughter-in-law to mother-in-law in ten years of marriage,
like baby teeth Period to permanent teeth.
A woman - my wife,
Her youth fluctuates like April flowers.
The brevity of memories is just like romance,
being penetrated by drops of water.
She denies the cruelty of reality,
and rejects traditional delicacies:
Hot dry noodles, eggnog, tofu skin, beef powder,
Oh! Everything changes as fast as the wind, my dear,
Let me stand alone at the edge of the night unable to sing for you.
From elementary school to middle school, from the period of voice change to pregnancy,
She lived a life of flattery.
Nowadays, flowers are blooming,
As soon as the rhythm of fashion sounds,
the days will change.
Just look at the plum blossoms to quench your thirst, there is no need to point at the mulberry trees and scold the locust trees.
Reflections of the boastful past——
Her stunned growth:
A messy street,
Dozens of people staggering around ,
They face the west, east, south or north wind,
kill pigs or sheep, give birth to children and raise daughters,
the years change, What remains unchanged is inner peace.
She did not go from daughter-in-law to mother-in-law in ten years of marriage.
But I was tired of running for my life, and I was in dire straits for my son and her.
Like a marathon with no winner or loser,
It is impossible to encourage growth.
Hold on means nothing,
Hold on means everything.
Such a scene should be seen:
Small bridge, flowing water, willows,
That childhood dream, the spring breeze blows a hundred times,
It won't sprout.
The inertia of industrial civilization,
leave the descendants of agriculture with nowhere to say goodbye.
She definitely did not go from daughter-in-law to mother-in-law in ten years of marriage,
but daughter-in-law will eventually become mother-in-law.
Like the Duke of Windsor’s oath,
Does it wear water through stone or disappear into smoke?
This refers to the era when deer turned into horses.
Those stories of those who died of old age,
I really don’t know.
"Famous Name - Missing wsw"
The memories of autumn are so overwhelming,
I look at the bright moon under the sweet-scented osmanthus in October:
The bright moon The night falls.
The descriptions, metaphors and modifications of this moment are difficult to get rid of;
The rain - it watered:
I will make a long story short rest of life.
Your blurry figure is trembling,
just like thirty-five years ago,
undecided and swaying.
Those who add superfluous things are silent.
This silence makes me realize that short words should be spoken once;
In the face of the past alone,
We should use the seasonal wind and snow to inquire about your dusty name.
Zipeng Mountain, I need your deep comfort.
With this deep comfort,
A Chinese character can turn the corner of life’s confusion. into gold.
Everything you see and feel will be illuminated by its reflection.
The memories of autumn are so overwhelming,
I look at them under the sweet-scented osmanthus in October:
The bloom that you passed by.
In your deep sighs or cries,
In my childhood, teenagers and young people left for foreign lands.
A quiet man marries a lively wife,
gives birth to a group of children who travel from north to south,
They occupy the mountain and become kings, and they are arrogant.
I know: I am getting older,
In the sound of drums as groundhogs dig the ground,
I give up on myself,
p>
Then ask your descendants to carve your name on it.
"Snow Mountains on the Plateau"
But the snow is still too deep, Plateau:
All I see is your towering part.
Clear and white.
Crystal clear.
I want to leave the topic of death in a long dream,
If you don’t wake up from your winter bed sleep,
I want to Let this elusive snow-capped mountain retreat for thousands of years,
and then dump it into a river called moonlight.
Higher than ten thousand ren,
Higher than anything I have praised in the past.
Pure snow-capped mountains, a stingy holy land.
Why don’t you stay at the beautiful moment?
Why is that homeless beast,
looking for a home in your broad mind?
But he lost his way again and again,
and ended up living in a different place.
In fact, just once,
I can see you through and through.
But the snow is still too deep,
but the snow-capped mountains are still too far away,
clear and white.
Crystal clear.
Because of the plateau,
all I see is your towering part.
"The Destination Belonging to a River"
The river passes through the jungle,
among the low mountains,
the river undulates, But not surging.
The river flows quietly forward,
night after night.
The place where they flow is the dark corner of human beings,
It is damp, dirty and full of thorns.
There is the sky above your head and the earth below your feet.
The river is in such a zone,
neither tense nor relaxed.
The direction of the river is the direction of history.
When the first ray of fresh sunshine shines into the secret history of the soul,
The weight of the river cannot bear it,
That ancient,
The river in the east.
The destination of a river flows through the great river,
It belongs to the dream of ignorance.
The hint of a river is the hint of a lifetime.
It may be accurate, but it may be wrong.
The passing of another river makes human beings bend down to listen to its Buddha light.
I know: what the clear water carries down the river is either a stone or a stone. moon.
"From Hubei to Hainan"
From Hubei to Hainan, the land is decreasing,
The ocean is boundless.
Hometown is just a word,
My relatives are beyond recognition.
Familiar things do not exist,
From roads to place names,
everything is strange.
There is nothing wrong with this.
From Hubei to Hainan,
The tranquility I want is right here.
Unfamiliar streets, faces,
unfamiliar sunshine, air,
Let me start over -
A gorgeous turn.
It takes courage to say goodbye to the haunting past.
Courage is getting less and less.
It’s like getting older. Like the hourglass of time,
cannot stop the years and tides.
From Hubei to Hainan,
My dream has finally come true:
The sea extends to the south,
The forest covers the open space,
The crowd changed from dense to sparse.
Children grow in a relaxed and lively environment
-not by forcing the children to grow.
The heat wave rises, new elements emerge, and the life you long for is completely transformed.
Everything is new, from Hubei to Hainan,
I have left behind forty years of growth, aging, youth,
and joy or misfortune. behind.
I know - I have worked very hard,
My relatives and friends have gone their separate ways,
Succinct and to the point. Out of reverence for fate,
for the rest of my life in anonymity,
your infamous yesterday,
I decided to keep it secret from now on.
"In the depths of time"
I see the traces of the aging of life,
In the depths of time,
a word Bring me a piece of the past.
As long as memory,
The sadness and vividness after happiness,
is sweet, it takes away a piece of silent pain.
The painful time,
Those famous names, and the scenery,
Do they nourish:
The nectar you have longed for.
This is in the deepest part of time,
I can clearly see the pain of the earth.
The helplessness of life passing by,
further than the wind, further than death.
The leaky village in my childhood, the low blue-tiled house,
Tonight, they fill me with passion.
Will the old buffalo continue its erotic dream?
Once, I fell off it,
What I bumped into was not shit.
Many years have passed and I cannot forget it.
It is still a touching detail.
The young man who was obsessed with Tang poetry and Song lyrics,
slowly shut his chattering mouth.
He prefers Confucius, Laozi,
Zhuangzi and Mencius.
From "The Analects" to "Tao Te Ching",
From "Spring and Autumn" to "Historical Records",
The days we look forward to,
< p>It's just the wisps of smoke at the end of life.As long as the breeze blows,
they will disappear.
In the depths of time,
It seems as if we have never been here.
"The sun shines on the living room in the afternoon"
The sun shines on the living room in the afternoon,
its warmth hits me.
My shoulders and chest
——I saw happiness at this moment.
Every time I read,
it is just as you imagine,
it happens in the large living room.
In the afternoon of the faun,
I opened up another self.
Another unreal inspiration,
or a brown light dream,
coming quietly from the window on the right,
sunlight There was a moan there.
It saw my nonchalant expression.
I slowly opened the book and turned to the page of death.
A beam of light passed through my eyes.
I suddenly remembered a folk proverb:
"On the night of flowers and candles in the bridal chamber, when the names of the gold medals were named,
——meeting an old friend in a foreign land.
"Flowers Blooming and Falling"
February is when flowers bloom season,
but February goes too far, too quickly
Those flowers fall faster than fast.
The beauty in the water, in February,
It makes me unable to name the cormorant with its high neck.
What else is moved by the sound of falling flowers?
< p>In the autumn of the final note,Why doesn't the flower fall a little slower, a little slower
Why doesn't it wait for another February,
Reopening.
Time and time again, I wander about the past and the gaps of tolerance,
Repeat such sad dreams
I can’t be ashamed,
< p>Cry and sing to appreciate yourself, and then appreciate others.In the early morning, the fog of long-distance running has not faded.
Who starts a new journey. Work,
among the sweet-scented osmanthus that spreads ten miles away,
or the bright red fallen leaves,
the slow twisting posture of a few old people,
And their bitter coughs,
could it be the superposition of my old age
As my frugal life disappears,
A minor illness, enteritis.
I want to leave you,
Create miracles before the flowers bloom,
Speak humor after the flowers bloom. p>
"Carried Away by the Wind"
The sound of cicadas in August leaves behind your cries,
Memory takes them to a distant perspective
The moment the strong wind blew up,
the sky became gloomy.
The strong wind also brought:
An improvisation of broken glass windows.
As evening falls,
bats begin to fly.
Those children you watched under the low curtains,
Many years later, < /p>
They become clear in the strong wind,
clean and pure,
lonely and longing
This longing is not time, nor is it.
It is a mist,
The last mist
They sway in the wind,
Float or sing,< /p>
Then it disappeared without a trace
Why it was not the fallen leaves that were carried away by the wind,
but the sand and gravel rolling everywhere.
Why do groups of children know the need to run, but I am walking in the wind that takes away the meaning,
I am thinking hard and being sentimental.
"Writing in the Rain, or Blank Narrative"
Writing about a rain, when it didn't fall,
I started to formulate ideas.
Its size, its speed and manner,
Related to inner needs or desires.
This is an assumption,
There is another assumption,
It has that empty narrative.
It knows that if one rain is too long,
it will affect the mood of another rain.
So it waits for the sunny day,
saying nothing in the rain.
Speechless, in the rain.
It sees clearly the silence of all things in the world,
and the fragility of life itself.
These are real.
Look at the heart concealed by its strong appearance.
It is so vulnerable.
The rain started to fall, last night,
In my trance dream.
It is endless,
Tireless, this is true.
Just like the world you foresee is a blank narrative,
Rain can also be fictional.
It can also be named,
Metaphorically from here to there,
You must practice transitive sentences,
Practice verbs and adverbials .
This may seem simple, but
it is all true.
Why pause!
Why do you hesitate to speak?
In the midst of a drop of rain falling,
or a gap in the narrative,
I dreamed that I had a dream.
The one running in the dream was neither myself nor others
nor others
"Summer Light"
Three bats Flying to the window in May,
Seven colors greet their standing posture.
A suggested analysis,
Suppose there is the speed of flight,
Such summer light,
is destiny The light of comedy, the light of longing.
The dim or strong summer light,
leads the realm of human existence to open areas.
Like my writing, my poetry,
my words and rhythm.
Knock down success and hope.
The light of summer is the light of hard endurance,
the light of impossible possibility, the light of renunciation.
The bright opening or arrival of summer is illusory,
unfree arrival.
What kind of watch should be used to let the light of summer come smoothly?
From perseverance to giving up,
My friends and relatives,
The breath of a flying heart,
Does it foretell something? A summer away from the song of the century.
"Unfold"
In a slight sigh, I unfold the spring sky monologue for you,
It is not branches and green buds,
Youth or grow.
In a slight sigh, I will start a spring monologue for you,
There is only one journey in life,
And the journey will bear fruitless memories.
I will start my spring monologue for you with a slight sigh,
I still have to continue to unfold it.
In the desert five thousand miles away,
or in the white clouds eighty thousand miles away.
It unfolds silently in a betrayal way,
like raindrops hitting fallen leaves,
like wind dust leaving fallen leaves.
It still has to unfold,
like a story with no time gap,
foreseeing the future in the uncertain swing.
It still unfolds,
It still makes the river flow when a bunch of flowers fall,
The sun and the moon are durable and hard.
It makes you understand that the days surrounded by flowers are ordinary and ordinary days.
It still unfolds, unfolds for you.
But the unfolding stopped abruptly with a slight sigh.
"Suffering Farewell"
The Gesang flowers in Tibet are still fluttering in the cold wind.
I think of the late autumn of 2009,
A night of hesitation about the snow-white Hada in Lhasa.
After leaving it for more than a year,
Why is my heart still there——
Potala, Bajiao Street,
Namtso and Jokhang Temple.
Why do butter lamps illuminate the moonlight again and again during sleep in the dark night?
I really miss you,
the lamas, the believers,
and the photographer who took the photo for me,
Hundreds of years of history were frozen in an instant.
I don’t know his last name——
The six-character mantra of Tibetan Buddhism,
like a heavenly road extending further into the distance,
The huge golden dome of Tashilhunpo Temple,
is flourishing amid the singing of singer Han Hong.
Those fluttering prayer flags are like magnets,
attracting the souls of countless pilgrims.
It cannot alleviate my sorrow of separation.
This time the disease and suffering are left thousands of miles away.
What is within reach is God’s grace.< /p>
The compassion of Buddha.
There is also the warmth and sweetness of reunited relatives after a long separation.
I think I am tired. At Gonggar Airport,
when the plane starts to speed up and taxi,
when the wind in my ears howls through the clouds and fog. ,
When I lowered my head and looked at the land of Tibet,
and the things shining with holy light,
I held my wife's hand tightly and suddenly let go.
"Another Open Door"
I like its tall courtyard,
its transparent dome,
let my thoughts Pierce the blue sky.
At Wuhan Tianhe Airport,
how many times have I seen it as a huge——
White Castle.
I am the king of the castle.
The princess and prince greet me in the morning.
The ministers are loyal and perform their duties.
The young queen and I are troubled and longing for our past lives.
These are the whys,
Another my life does it exist.
In the area of ??East Lake and Fruit Lake,
I have lived for eleven years,
not very long, nor too short.
My wife and my son, Hutouhunao,
In East Lake and Fruit Lake,
He said the airport is good;
When we arrived at the airport, he said Wuchang was good.
I like its grandeur.
The airport is far away from the city.
The air feels purified.
Maybe Ye Gong likes dragons. Once
my flight to Xiamen was delayed by two hours,
in the majestic and tragic departure hall,
the aimless music was endless,
p>
It is diffuse and slow -
Like a door that has never been opened, waiting for me to come.
Actually, I am used to this rhythm,
Between morning and afternoon,
Between fiction and documentary,
Fantasy The snow-capped mountains moved me.
Every drop of it melts, like the history of retrogression,
Laughing at the people who turn a blind eye.
Those hungry faces, panicked faces,
and smiling faces,
I decided to hand over the airport to you,< /p>
Which blue sky will I fly to next?
I can sit back and wait, but I can't encourage it.
"Li Qingzhao in the Autumn of 1148"
This is the autumn of 1148.
Golden chrysanthemums are all over the mountains and plains,
overwhelming.
In distant China, in the Song Dynasty,
A woman was unkempt and riddled with diseases.
She was a refugee in desolate condition - in a daze.
The weakness of old age is inexhaustible,
Her shadow grows and then quickly disappears.
She has come a long way,
and can bravely write down her thoughts and rainbows.
Her name is Li Qingzhao, a woman who is said to be "a hero in life, and a hero in death";
She is a woman who is "looking and searching, deserted,
The poet of "miserable and miserable";
It is the young woman in "How Deep the Courtyard".
In distant China, in the Song Dynasty,
This is the autumn of 1148,
I see clearly the end of this woman's life,
The beauty that has gone away,
That is the sentimentality of a dynasty.
Zhao Mingcheng, who was like her, is gone, and Zhang Ruzhou, who made her infamous, is missing.
With the turmoil of "One Cut Plum",
I heard the loneliness and murmuring of "Drunk Flower Yin":
"It is impossible not to lose one's soul, because people are thinner than yellow flowers." .
Read a poem "Who in the clouds sent me a brocade book?"
When the geese return, the moon is full on the west tower.
Sigh to a song: "The flowers are floating and the water is flowing.
One kind of lovesickness, two places of idle sorrow."
Golden chrysanthemums are overwhelming, covering the mountains and plains.
It flows through the river of time of 860 years,
Towards me and towards you.
In the autumn of 1148, Li Qingzhao——
Do you have bright eyes and white teeth, or do you have a plain face?
"I like the warm sun in autumn"
I like the warm sun in autumn,
The songs of the season come from the mountain streams,< /p>
Recalling walking in Jiuzhaigou Valley at an altitude of 3,000 meters,
Those tourists climbed up and looked into the distance.
I forget the loneliness of the past.
Only vaguely identifiable:
The road under my feet and the red leaves,
they are always the same as before.
The children are jumping around,
I can’t see the shadow of my childhood in them,
Their feelings are the same as mine.
I like the warm sunshine of this autumn -
It contains all the warmth of life
- I like it.
"The former gate remains desolate"
It sounds a little tiring to say,
Five years have passed in the blink of an eye,
My son is here The wind surges carelessly.
He is eloquent, and
brings me all kinds of surprises.
But it’s hard for me to be happy. Why must growth be like this:
p>
Like a vast grassland——
What is it that makes the horse gallop!
It sounds a bit sentimental to say,
Forty years have passed in the blink of an eye,
My ancestral home in the countryside has been in trouble for the past 40 years,
< p>The old house that has been with me for countless sunsets,In your outline: the former gate and courtyard are still desolate.
It’s even ridiculous to say it.
I will enter middle age in a blink of an eye,
but I think of myself as a young person all day long.
What’s even more ridiculous is that my friends,
who are older than me and still single,
are unwilling to see my beautiful son.
What will make me afraid of old age,
I will be unable to face the family of the past!
"Behind Lijiang"
Behind Lijiang is the Jade Dragon Snow Mountain, and
farther away is Shangri-La.
They say Shangri-La is the place where gods live,
I am not a god,
I stopped in Lijiang.
It has become smaller and smaller,
It is hesitating and stopping for some small things.
The Naxi women in Lijiang,
live for men all year round,
living for their children and family.
The silence in Lijiang has something to do with them,
The noise in Lijiang has nothing to do with them.
When the spring wind blows from the snow-capped mountains of Lijiang,
it blows across the eternal things on the plateau -
It is beautiful and quiet here,< /p>
What I felt was an indescribable sadness and desolation.
There are many stories behind Lijiang. It is related to poverty, sudden wealth,
love at first sight, touching the world,
even being upset.
None of them need me or concern me.
I like the quietness of Lijiang,
It does not belong to me,
This essential lyricism,
You have to admit it or not .
"Experience Kunming Life in an Afternoon in Cuihu"
I stayed in Cuihu for an afternoon.
I did not cook raw rice into cooked rice. My regret.
Seagulls often visit Green Lake and Dianchi Lake.
I missed them. In Kunming,
I also lost a romance.
A leisurely life, alas!
Where did it meet me unexpectedly.
The teahouse is crowded with tourists, and the aroma of Pu'er wafts out from the teahouse.
The main attraction is the sound of mahjong changing.
This untimely gap,
I decided to write a poem about forgetfulness.
In my heart, I cried so much over my decision,
Every expressive word,
is my hometown and relatives.
They hurt me when they get close to me...
Busty and bustling, all for benefit,
I recited this sentence silently,
The tea in my hand has been cold for a long time.
I think I am happy. In my later years,
I should write a spiritual autobiography,
The protagonist and the supporting role are clearly distinct.
Not happy at all.
While thinking this way,
his son’s cry suddenly came from behind:
“Dad, the toy I bought just now was stolen.
I want to buy another one.
”