Dai wangshu
Holding an oil-paper umbrella,
Wandering alone for a long, long time
Lonely rain lane,
I hope to see
Like cloves.
A girl with a grudge.
She does.
Clove-like color,
Lilac-like fragrance,
Sad as cloves,
Mourning in the rain,
Sadness and hesitation;
She lingers in this lonely rain lane,
Hold an oil-paper umbrella
Like me,
Like me.
In silence
Cold, sadness and melancholy.
She approached quietly,
Get close and throw again.
Breathing eyes
She floated by.
Like a dream,
Sad and confused like a dream.
Floating like a dream
A lilac,
I passed this girl by;
She went away silently, far away,
Towards the decaying wall,
Walk through this rainy path.
In the lamentation of the rain,
Remove her color,
Spread her fragrance,
Disappeared, even hers
Breathing eyes,
Lilac is melancholy.
Holding an oil-paper umbrella,
Wandering alone for a long, long time
Lonely rain lane,
I hope to float over.
Like cloves.
A girl with a grudge.
The Tang Dynasty ballad "You gave birth to me before I was born, and I gave birth to you."
You were born before I was born, and I was old when I was born. You hate that I was born late, and I hate that you were born early.
And this version:
You were born before I was born, and I was old when I was born.
You hate that I was born late, and I hate that you were born early.
You were born before I was born, and I was old when I was born.
Hate is not born at the same time. Hello every day.
I was born before you were born, but you were born when I was old.
I am far away from you, and you are far away from me.
I was born before you were born, but you were born when I was old.
Become a butterfly, look for flowers every night and live in the grass.
Flowering tree
How to let you meet me
In my best moment, for this.
I prayed in front of the Buddha for 500 years.
Begging him to let us have a dusty relationship.
Then the Buddha turned me into a tree.
Follow the path you may take.
In the blooming flowers, I wait in the sun.
Every flower carries my previous hopes.
Please listen carefully when you come near.
The trembling leaves are my passion for waiting,
When you walked under the tree, you didn't notice me.
On the ground behind you
Friend, that's not a petal.
It is my withered heart
Dai Wangshu's poems