That January, I shook all the prayer flags, not to cross, but to touch your fingertips;
That year, I kowtowed and climbed on the mountain road, not to see you, but to keep your warmth;
At that time, I turned the landscape into a stupa, not to repair the afterlife, but to meet you on the road-the introduction.
The moon is as bright as snow. The moonlight in front of the bed, the cool evening breeze, and the nervous mood finally calmed down. Where is the dream of waking up at midnight? Whose figure is swaying and whose whisper is ethereal? Trouble sleeping, the night has finally passed. Dream on. Where is the other shore? Pack your bags, towards the distant. What attracts me deeply there? Tell me, go ahead, go ahead, go west.
Baiyun green stream, ancient bridge and ancient river. Road, gradually turn high, spread and hover, but always up. Clouds, getting lower and lower, are changing a lot, but they are always higher than my fingers. Like a mystery in a dream, I can't solve it all the time. Fortunately, the faint call is still there, telling me to go west …
Yellow sand flying, boundless desert is the end of the dream? Hold a handful of quicksand and let it slip through your fingers, something you can see but can't catch? Dreams, yes. The end of the dream is here, but it has not been discovered yet. Maybe it's just around the corner, maybe it's a little far away. The endless sea of sand, occasionally blown dry by the wind, occasionally flows alone, changing its shape little by little and becoming sand dunes and quicksand, but there are always some things that have not changed.
The wind dispersed the diffuse yellow sand and the sand sea reached the edge. This mountain is tall and mighty, and everything is so humble and insignificant in front of it. Old colors, the breath of a thousand years, the traces left by years on it, maybe it has been waiting too long.
Dunhuang, a dream. When it appeared in front of me, I didn't feel suddenly, as if I already knew that everything in my dream was it. Gorgeous as a flower, painted on the oil wall, lost in the shadow of the Buddha, the flying goddess. Believe in reincarnation, practice for several generations, not for the afterlife, go through hardships and travel long distances, not be fascinated by customs, but seek to meet each other.
I haven't seen you for a long time, and my figure is still beautiful, and my eyelids are a lot less sad. The word "waiting" masks the ruthlessness of time peeling off fine flowers. Who ever thought how many cycles the feelings waiting in the years have lasted, and how much tenderness is left now? Under the unchangeable face, my heart has been old for many years.
Blue clouds fly, dance and sway in Dunhuang dreams for thousands of years.