original text
"ah! wind
Sometimes you sing and sometimes you laugh; Sometimes I lament and cry. We can hear your voice. But we can't see your face: we can feel you, but we can't see you. You are like an ocean of love that drowns our souls and soothes our peaceful hearts.
You rise on the mountain, fall in the valley, spread out on the Yuan Ye. When you ascend, you can see your fortitude and perseverance; When you descend, you can see your humility and comity; Show your lightness when stretching. Sensitive. You are like a noble and kind king, affable to the weak at a lower level and imposing on the arrogant strong.
Autumn, in the mountains. You cried everywhere. The tree follows you-sobbing; In winter, when you are angry, the whole person will naturally be angry with you: in spring, you are weak and sick, but the field wakes up because of you; In summer, you put on a mask of peace, but we think that the sun shoots you with sharp arrows and wraps your body with its heat.
However, in autumn, are you crying, or are you glaring because you stripped the trees of their clothes and watched them smile shyly in winter? Or dancing around a snow-covered grave on a spring night. Are you weak, or are you like a sentimental girl?
I want to wake up my long-lost lover-the youth in the four seasons-from my sleeping hometown with a sad sigh. Are you a zombie in summer, or do you want to sleep in fruit trees, vines and threshing floors for a while?
You brought the smell of disease from mean streets and the fragrance of flowers from the wild mountains. This is like those broad-minded people who silently endure the pain of life and silently treat the happiness of life.
You said something strange to Rose Ear. This flower actually knows what they mean, so it shivers all over for a while, and then it seems to be smiling. This is exactly what God has done to the human soul.
You are slow here. It is in a hurry there, and in the third place it is running, galloping and never stopping. It's like a person's mind. When you are still, you die, and when you are active, you are born.
You write on the lake and then erase it. What's the difference between this and those hesitant poets when you come from the south?
Hot as love; You are as cold as ice from the north to now; When you come from the east, you are as gentle as a soul; When it came down from the west, it was as cold and fierce as hatred. Are you as headstrong as the years? Or messengers from all directions, how do they charge you? Tell us you were angry in the desert.
It is cruel to ravage the caravan. Then you bury them under the sand in the desert. Is this still you? -that invisible airflow, with the morning light, slowly rises from the branches and leaves, quietly submerged in Yuan Ye like a dream. Valley, flowers tremble for your love. Swaying, the grass smells your breath. You dance and get drunk.
You lost your temper in the ocean, turned the calm sea into a nameless fire, made it choppy, chased you, opened your mouth, and swallowed countless ships and lives at once. Is this still you? -You are naughty and affectionate, gently stroking the pigtails of girls running around the room.
Extended data:
On the whole, Ji Bolun's literary works present a sacred "apocalyptic" form, with fables and wisdom literature full of fraternity and philosophy of life as the main body, prose poetry (a kind of poetry) as the genre form, and the first person "I" as the direct narrative and expression of views, just like a knowledgeable and wise "prophet" facing the world.