she drifted by
dreamlike,
poignant and dim like a dream.
When I walked with my feet, I walked in silence, like me.
Like in a dream,
a branch of lilac,
this woman floated beside me;
she was quietly far away,far away,
to a decaying wall,
to the end of the rainy lane.
In the rain's mournful song,
her color faded,
her fragrance dispersed,
dissipated, even her
temperate eyes,
lilac melancholy.
Holding an oil-paper umbrella, wandering alone in the long, long
and silent rainy lane,
I hope to see
a lilac-like
girl with sadness drifting by.
The story of the girl who was in the middle of the rainy lane is a story of a girl who was in the middle of the rainy lane, and she was in the middle of the rainy lane.
The story is so sudden that it can make people hallucinate.
The story of spring is too short, so short that it can make people afraid and then suffer. A beginning and an end in the rainy season.
Spring is a lie.
It's a beautiful wish to imagine seeing some flowers on the steps where the moonlight sits. On the days when the cold hands of the night brushed you, you frowned and watched the lake freeze with your thoughts.
The cycle of a thousand years remains the same, and in the warmth of spring there is always a world of color, and a hint of indifference in the wilderness. Who blew away the mist, and let the song through the world, blowing the trees by the river and the moss in the courtyard green.
It's just that the flowers haven't bloomed yet.
There is always hope, is reserved for the thousands of mountains after the plain; there is always hope, is reserved for the vicissitudes of happiness.
Hope, is that the early spring leaves, in the green and not green between.
The night is a lonely name.
The red candle blew the horn for a period of time, and the sky instantly dimmed to ink. There is a pair of hands, stretching out the scope of history, to catch the snow drifting down in early spring.
Waiting to get thinner and thinner, thinning into the yellow flower in the courtyard.
There is always music that breaks through the silence of the night, and at a certain time in a certain month in a certain year, a flower blooms, for a kind of beauty called spring. In the cold night, crying alone.
Who is standing in the classical sentiment, what color is blurred, only your dark eyes.
Beauty is to be in despair and still be able to look at yourself in the water.
The night will be a body of water that will drown all the ethereal things.
You woke up, but I was drunk. I know you, I know you, I know you, I know you.
Spring is the beginning of a play with an easy smile.
The desperate blossoming of flowers, together with the moon that walks in the night with a brocade coat, run to an unknown ending.
No sunlight, only shadows, the window sill murmuring. The light blue melancholy reached out and gently dragged a few clouds into the room. In an instant, there were flowers whispering
It was a flight, as we all know, a candy and blue and purple dress. Love is a serious game, a shake ......
Nowadays I just want to lie quietly by the side of a person let the shadows of the sky streaming clouds drifting over our faces day after day ......
It was a winter at the end of the century, I A certain province of my body began to miss you. When spring came every province of my body had fallen, and that was the last rose in my palace - the name was love ......
Why? Why? Holding your hand and losing your way? It's too crowded! Love your heart, you see me like a fool, frightened fool!
Yesterday I was by your side, listening to music. The sun fell on your shoulders, the voice fallacy, sing some hoarse out-of-tune ballad, small a never again for whom to pirouette smile ...... I once touched the happiness; how to seize the perfect day? Once passing by, three times looking back!
From the dust, nobly flew down, no flower bottles, can feed the covenant oath ,but there are thorns, can make me mournful ......
Wish the sadness in the dream, are not too long, the dawn that is, rise up ,ruthlessly, for the tomorrow pretty .
What will dissipate. In an instant, miss this glance, to see again will be difficult. When a thousand beauties are forgotten. When you die in the valley, it's legendary to be remembered and discarded.
The splendor of the blood-colored twilight built on a black shield is undoubtedly still loved by people who can't help but love it.
I brought back a handful of volcanic ash from the distant Pompeii, those tiny porous gray-brown particles, placed in the sunlight, you can see the glittering years. It's like traveling through the tunnel of time, standing in a high castle. The wind and the battle
The prince and princess's match made in heaven rubbed shoulders with the king of demons. Cupid committed a foul, one arrow and two shots
The Demon King descended from the sky. Inside the city, the flowers weep without a sound
Black and white war, just for the rose they fell in love with at the same time
Even when the Demon King's sword passes through your chest, he is still marveling at your magnificence
An embrace turns into water-deep desperation. If the blossom is not now, when is it?
No foreknowledge, no panic, the dawn is mastered like a gentle bloom.
Who is pointing to the mountains, the youthful temperament will be spread in the clear sky. I'm not sure if I'm going to be able to do that, but I'm going to be able to do it, and I'm going to be able to do it.
The sun is going to be dark for a while, don't be afraid, what has been opened, will always be open; what has been missed, let it be missed!
I never thought the sky would be so blue, so blue that we can not bear to ignore each other
The track of the weeping, the cold feeling of the sun, and how can I stop you from swinging in my heart
If the change of my first open mouth, the day is still the same as a fine water
The heart is moved by the matter of a split second.
Your heart is a small window that is closed
My horse's hooves are a beautiful mistake
I'm not a returnee, I'm just a passer-by
Many of the works of Simurgh are like this
You turn around in the twilight, you're walking away
The corridors are silent, and all the gods are silent
I'm finally turning into wood and stone, just as I did in my past life
Outside the corridors, there are still a thousand hibiscus. There are still a thousand hibiscus
blooming faintly in the water
purple, soft pink
and snowy white
like an anonymous painting from the Song Dynasty
slowly dyed and slowly blossomed
goes away and comes back again/as if/there is always a tidal wave of voices calling out in the darkness of the night/and my chest is filled with a need for a tenderness that cannot be solved/a spring that can't be finished by using five colors of silk threads.
Spring must have been like this: from the green hills, a handful of snow couldn't hold on any longer, and with a snort, turned a cold face into a flowery one, and a ripping song was sung from the clouds to the foothills of the mountains, from the foothills of the mountains to the low barren villages, into the hedgerows, into the yellow flippers of a duckling, and into the soft, dissolving spring mud - the soft, dissolving spring mud. The spring mud - as soft as a freshly turned quilt - is dissolving.
That delicate, that sensitive, but also that stew without end. A thunder, can for no reason to cry the clouds in the sky, a cuckoo cries, can fight a city azalea, a wind, every willow are chanting out of a white, false fluttering can not say, listen to not hear the flotsam, every flotsam is a piece of willow of the semicolonial. Anyway, spring is so unreasonable, illogical, but still can be good to make people calm.
Spring is bound to have been this way: full of pond leaves bleak flower remnants of the dead stalks of the dead to defend a cut of the old roots, in the north of thousands of houses in the beams of the house of the wind and snow pressure is still tenderly holding a small empty nest, and then, suddenly one day, peach blossom all the villages of the water contours have been captured. Willow willows to the royal ditch and the folk of the river are controlled - spring is like the flag of the king's division, the regiment of the long and pious expectations and prayers and beautiful up.
And about the name of spring, there must have once been such a story: before the "Poetry Classic", before the "Shangshu", before the Cangjie made the characters, a set of lambs in meshing the grass violently feel sweaty, a child in flying a kite violently feel soaring, a pair of legs suffering from wind pains in the violently feel soothing, thousands of pairs of vegetative hands in the stream in the pond in the river coon the sand of the hands violently feel The blood of the water ...... As they ran to tell each other in amazement, they decided to pucker their mouths into the shape of whistles, and name the season with the volume of a pleasant whisper-"Spring." .
The birds can begin measuring the sky again. Some measure the blueness of the sky, some measure the transparency of the sky, some measure the height and depth of the sky with those wings. And all the birds were not good mathematicians, they squeaked and counted and checked and checked, but finally they did not dare to announce the statistics.
As for all the flowers, they have been given to the butterflies to count. All the stamens have been given to the bees to catalog. All the trees, given to the wind to indulge in favor. And the wind, to the old wind chimes in front of the eaves to remember and inquire.
Spring must have been like this once, or maybe, somewhere, it still is, right? Through the black forest of smoke woks and smoke woks, I want to visit the spring that is tramping in an age of oblivion.
To be original 、、、、 even before seems to have written some 、、、、 look at it.
The pear blossoms outside the window have almost finished but not yet finished, the branches are still stacked on the pressure but is no longer clear and tender slightly transparent white. Warm wind rolled through, scattered floating some dry petals. Outside the smoke Luo green window seems to be under the fine white snow.
Under the crystal blue sky, pairs of swallows murmured and flew into the soft, wet grass under the eaves.
1 Please allow me to relax for a while to sit beside you. The work of my hands will wait a little while before I finish it.
Being out of your presence my mind need not know what ease and rest are My work becomes endless toil in a sea of endless toil.
Today The heat comes to my window Softly hushing the whisper; The swarming bees play and sing to their heart's content In the court of the flowering trees.
This is the time to sit in silence, opposite thee, and to sing in this silence and boundless leisure the dedication of the measure of life.
2 I have traveled a long time, and the journey has been long.
At the break of day I drove across the vast world. I left tracks on many planets.
The closest to you is the farthest, the simplest tones require the hardest practice.
The traveler has to knock at every living person's door before he reaches his own Man has to drift all over the place outside before he finally reaches the deepest inner sanctum.
My eyes looked around into the empty expanse before I finally closed them and said, "So this is where you live!"
The question and the call, "Where is it?" melted in a thousand tears, and your assured answer, "Here I am!"
3 The song I want to sing has not been sung until today.
Every day I tune the strings on my instrument. The time has not come The lyrics have not been filled; Only the pain of desire is in my heart.
The stamens have not yet opened; only the wind walks by with a sigh.
I have not seen his face nor heard his voice; I have only heard his footsteps creeping down the road in front of my room.
The long day wore away in making a seat for him on the floor; but the lamp was not yet lighted, and I could not invite him in. I live in the hope of meeting him, but the day of that meeting has not yet come.
4 I received an invitation to the festivals of this world My life was blessed. My eyes saw beautiful sights and my ears heard intoxicating music.
At this feast my task was to play music and I played to the best of my ability.
Now, I ask, has that time come at last when I may enter to behold your face and offer my silent salute?
5 I have waited only for Love to finally place me in his hands. This is the cause of my delay, and I am responsible for that delay.
They want to bind me with laws and regulations; but I always avoid them, because I am only waiting for Love to give me into His hands at last.
People reproach me, saying that I do not heed men; and I know that their reproach is justified
The market is over, and the work of the busy men is done. Those who told me not to answer have gone back in anger. I am only waiting for Love to give me into His hands at last.
6 The clouds are piling up and the darkness is deepening. Love, why do you keep me waiting outside the door?
At noon when work is at its peak, I am with you all, but on this dark and lonely day, I look only to you.
If you don't let me see you, if you abandon me altogether, I don't know how I'll get through this long rainy day. I can't stop staring at the cloudy sky, and my heart sighs with the restless wind.
7 If you do not speak, I will hold back and fill my heart with your silence. I will wait in silence like a sleepless night in the starlight and bow my head patiently.
The morning will surely come, and the darkness will fade, and your voice will break through the sky and pour down from the golden fountain.
Then your words shall wing and sound in every nest of mine, and your music shall blossom in the flowers of my forest.
8 On the day the lotus opened, alas, I was unconsciously distracted. My basket was empty, and the flowers I did not heed.
From time to time, a piece of sylvan melancholy assailed me, and I was startled out of my sleep to feel a fragrant trace of a strange fragrance in the south wind.
This bewildering warmth made my heart ache with longing, and I felt as if it were the breath of summer's longing, seeking fulfillment.
I didn't know then that it was so close to me, and that it was mine, and that this perfect warmth was still open in the depths of my own heart.
9 I must get out of my boat. The time has worn me out on the shore ____!
The spring flowers have blossomed and said goodbye. I've been waiting for a long time for this to happen.
The tide is gradually clamoring, and the yellow leaves are falling on the bank of the river.
What an emptiness you gaze upon! Don't you feel a surprise and a distant song from the opposite shore drifting together from the sky?
10 In the thick gloom of July's lascivious rains you walk with secret footsteps, nightly and silent, hiding from all who watch.
Today Early in the morning close your eyes Ignoring the roaring east wind that cries out again and again A thick veil covers the ever-awake blue sky.
The forests are silent and the homes are closed. You are a lonely pedestrian on this cold, silent street. Heh, my only friend, my favorite, my home is open ____ Don't go away dreamily.
11 Are you still out on this stormy night making love trips, my friend? The sky wails like a disappointed man.
I have no sleep tonight. I keep opening the door and looking into the darkness, my friend!
I can't see anything. I don't know which way you are going!
Is it from the inked banks of the river, or from the far sad woods, or through the dim and winding paths, that you have groped your way to me, my friend?
12 In this sleepy night let me yield myself obediently to sleep, and put my trust in thee.
Let me not force my languid spirit to prepare a perfunctory service to thee
Thou hast drawn the curtain of night over the weary eyes of day, and renewed them in the fresh joy of waking
13 He comes to sit by my side, and I am not awake. What hateful sleep, alas, unfortunate I am!
He came in the stillness of the night; his lyre was in his hand, and my dreaming soul chimed with his music.
Alas, why is each night thus wasted? Alas, his breath touches my sleep Why do I never see his face?
14 Lamps Where are the lamps? Where is the light? Just light it with the fire of longing!
The lamp is here, but there is no flame _____ Is this your fate, my heart? You might as well be dead!
Sorrow knocks at your door She sends word that your Lord is awake He bids you run to love's appointment in the darkness of the night.
Clouds cover the sky and the rain keeps falling. I don't know what's stirring in my heart ____ I don't know what it means.
A flash of electricity threw a deeper darkness over my vision, and my heart groped for the path where the music of the night called to me.
Light Where is the light? Light it with the fire of longing! Thunder rumbled and the wind roared across the sky. The night is black as black rock. Don't let time pass in darkness. Light up the lamp of love with your life.
15 The net is tough, but my heart aches to tear it.
I only want to be free, but I am ashamed to hope for it.
I know for sure that the priceless treasure is with you, and that you are my best friend, but I can't clear my house of grain.
I am clothed in dust and death; I hate it, but I hold it close with love.
My debts are many, my failures great, and my shame secret and deep; but when I come to ask for a blessing, I tremble, lest my prayer be granted.
16 He whom I have imprisoned under my name weeps in his prison. Every day I build a wall; and when it rises to the sky, my true self is cut off from me by the dark shadows of the wall.
I am proud of this wall, and I have smoothed it with sand, lest there should be a gap in the name, and I have taken pains, and I have lost sight of my true self.
17 I went to my rendezvous alone. Who follows me in the darkness?
I went away to hide from him, but I could not escape.
He strides with his head high and makes the ground dusty; every word I utter is laced with his shouts.
He is my ego, my Lord. He is shameless; but with him to thy door I am ashamed.
18 Those who love me on earth pull me by all means. Thy love is not so; Thy love is far greater than theirs; Thou hast set me free.
They never dared to leave me for fear that I would forget them. But you, as the days go by, you have not shown your face.
If I do not call upon you in my prayers If I do not take you to heart The love with which you loved me still waits for my love.
19 As long as I live I will call you my everything.
As long as my one sincerity remains, I feel you all around me, for anything I come to you for advice, for any time I offer my love to you.
As long as I live I will never hide you away.
As long as the fetters that lock me to your will remain a fraction of a second your will is fulfilled in my life ____ The fetters are your love.
20 This is my prayer to you my Lord ____ please root out root out the root of poverty in my heart.
Give me strength to bear joys and sorrows with ease.
Give me strength to make my love fruitful in service.
Give me strength to never forsake the poor nor bow the knee to the Lord's whoredom.
Give me the strength to raise my mind above the daily grind.
Give me the strength to submit my powers lovingly to the command of Thy will.
21 I thought my energies were spent The journey was over ____ The road ahead was closed The stores were exhausted The time to retire to the silent chasm had come.
But I find your will in me knows no end. Old words have just died on the tongue and new music has come in from the heart; old ruts are lost and new fields unfold marvelously before them.
22 I need you, only you ____ keep my heart repeating the words. All the desires that lure me day and night are utter fraud and emptiness.
Just as the night hides in a haze of prayers for light, so too does the cry from the depths of my subconscious ____ I need you, I need you only.
Just as the storm pounds the calm with all its might, but seeks to end in peace, so my defiance pounds your love, and its cry is still ____ I need you, only you.
23 All morning I tried to weave a wreath but the flowers slipped away.
You sat on the sidelines secretly watching me out of the corner of your detective's eye.
Ask this pair of sunken black mischievous eyes whose fault this is.
I want to sing a song, but I can't.
A dark smile trembles on your lips You ask it the reason for my failure.
Let your smiling lips make a vow about how my song fades into silence like a bee intoxicated in a lotus flower.
It is night. It is time for the petals to close.
Allow me to sit beside you Allow my lips to do the work that can be done in silence In the shimmering light of the stars.
It was a rainy night and I dreamed of the blazing sun. There were only a few of us on the empty mine road. Sparse, but not lonely. Wind laws rolled up layers of exhaustion. Cars passed by constantly, with no sign of stopping. We walked on in pairs, and kept going. Smiles on our faces that had been long overdue, like we were attending a big PART, only still dragging our whitened jeans and short clusters of shredded flowers. Relaxed and unusual.
The city of the past is a world, our dreams are another world, we are wandering in the city, what is the future, their own season withered? Tomorrow, the day after ...... unconsciously lost smile. Want to do a very silly and crazy thing. Abandon everything, no reason. Now set off.
The wind and sand obscured the direction, looking up at the sky, hands open. Tightly pulling the hand of a friend, jumping over the fence of another world ah, we are eager to see. Wake up the hibernating feathers. It is this time, please take me far away. Swinging hard, a little bit of raw pain, sleeping too long. We moved forward, cried, laughed, screamed loudly, jumped hard to set aside the woods, thorns, stinging palms, blood gushing, moistening the dryness buried in the heart; pain becomes weak in front of hope. One step, two steps, three steps, keep crossing the familiar strangeness, as long as to find the long missing happiness, there is the wind, there are clouds, there are flowers and friends.
The forest may hide the ocean, the clouds temporarily cover the rainbow, numbness suddenly replaces the excitement, but these these are all once, just the past lost, I will be like a full-grown courageous swinging the knife, incise them, I still do not know if there is still a clear sky tomorrow, but will always hold hope towards tomorrow, praying for light after the darkness of the night, repairing the fragments of the dream with the residual warmth of the palms of my hands, and at the next sun rises, embracing him in all his fullness as we set sail.