Let's Fly as the Wavelets
The Ear of the Sea
The sea is wide as the sky. Your eyes and my ears
Are extending to another distant sea
Behind the two blurred lenses
Time is an illusion, love another one
The world is so empty as us
With unrealistic will or imagination
The sea is not the destination; all rivers
Are running to the sea of heart
In the hollow world, ears are forced to listen every now and then
As the waves look up and listen to their source
As the wind bows and listens to its own end
Until they lose consciousness
The ear of the sea is like the waking-up waves
Sits alone in the blue of roof-like sky
Like a bird casting unrestrained longing upon a fish
The blooming ear, like a rosette opened by the waves
Glitters like fish scales, which are the boat of first love and the hot spring of blood
Listen, from the obstinate shore, the hand of an anchor is stretching out
Listen, from the intoxicating sands, the lips with seashells are stretching out
Listen, in the nude blue, there are chimeras of coconut shadow to pull the wind sound
Time falls to the surface, like a suspended dial
A pair of closed eyes and ears look at myself
The moonlight shadow bursts through the heartbeat of the sea and night
As Romantic as the Waves
The night is moving. The starlight scattering on the breath of my face
My love and lover, naked and transparent
Lights up the waking-up night suddenly
The sea tides push away the water, the music, the theater and the lighthouse
On the romantic beach, the pure white and blue splashing out from the dream
Perform the resurrection of a white swan
The swan emerges from a fantastic ship
Completely surrounded by its own shadow
The heavy love inevitably raises
Snowflakes in billows, the feathers of the swan
The soul grows eternal wings
The vessels are filled with waves and sunlight
But blood or breath
The swan and the lake, I and my shadow
Are full of boundless love
The waves, once a slanting part of misery
Hold each other tight in the storm, excited as the sea
Stretch out to the deeper sea and turn back to themselves
In this way, I listen to the sea and fall in love with love
In this way, I fill myself with the soul of the sea
In the waves, I enjoy myself and dive into the abyss
Tremble of the Tides
The impetuous tides, are love, always sneak in
Or attack stealthily. The palm of the tides
I love, the messy beach, the folds of your smiles The bronze night sky and the meteor across the waves
The waves rolled. I’m silent like a rock
Exiling myself and misery in the magma
Like a volcano, I’m caught in the secrets of the heart
The wave is a wound that heals in blue blood
The moonlight hangs over the waves like my love
The rose-like lip, in my dream
Kisses my wound and mouth
When the drums and strings of the waves ring out
I am the tide, the tail of the tide
Rippling the trill of the music for you
For the rest of my life, the tide is you, and the trill is you too
The tides become waves when in love
The waves become a sail in admiration
The sail changed into a petrel in the storm
They all have the wounds of rocks in heart
All the wounds grow wave-beaten white hair
My love possesses and presents
The dazzling white between the vast sea and sky
To Holy White Stone
Pieces of white stone of the broken clouds
Lift the whole western Sichuan plateau and the sky
The white sun, moon and stars
Sit on the roof of Jiarong Zang Village
Malcon was born in the holy stone
And grows up. The highland and canyon hidden in fire
Burns in ancient times over and over again
The white-wind flame, on the southern Tibetan plateau
Like an eagle, blows and soars through thousands of years
Too many snow peaks, too many vicissitudes
Too little worship is touched
Too many canyons, too many crossings
Too few journeys are saved
Too much meadow, too much frost and snow
Too few secrets have been awakened
Too much nakedness, too much misery
Too little permafrost is buried
The white stone, a frozen heart on the plateau
Is planted in the breast by all things
The white stone, make itself into a living
Seed that keeps growing
The fire in the skeleton of highland barley
The troche in the blood of the River Somo
The flame in the smile of Gesang flower
The blaze in the fingers of a prayer flag
Jiarong is a fire burning in Malcon
The crackling fried Tibet dance
Is the night of Zang village and the inner stone of the night
O! Holy white stone, on the plateau growing higher and higher
Are the head, the road and the stone
Recalling the Past as Picking up a Flower
I am awakened by the solitude of Mout. Qingcheng
Opening my eyes toward the depth of my features
Like a snake's tongue, shooting out for the fields, forests, flowers, flames and the world
On both sides of the Minjiang River
In the flower village, I seek myself alone
Lost in the flowers
Recalling the past begins with the plants and villages Touched by Puzhao Temple and Weijiang River
Flowers bloom at the bell and fall to the running water
The morning sun and the evening glow, become another form
Of me and the flower, poetic dwelling
The wind blows on my face
The flowers bloom behind me
No, it’s not that I see the flowers bloom
But the flower makes me bloom leaf by leaf
In the vast expanse of flowers crowded with shadows
I cannot see the human face
The shadow, scattering into the world
Mingles with the swaying of flowers
Like a bee in a hurry jumps over the branch
Into a vast transparent abyss
In plum wood, I’d live in seclusion with a plum and a crane
Scrubbing the blue sky with a pool of white clouds
In begonia garden, I’d follow the allusions pear blossoms over begonia flowers
Chanting a song about the graying hair on my temples in the spring breeze
In the flower village, suddenly I understand
I am the name of the flowers and time
Red is the basis of my thought
White the color of my soul
What is a flower, who am I
Like plants, I rely more on darkness to grow
Like flowers, I bloom more toward night
All good things lift up their heads to the light
I am part of the flower village and its fragrance
I am in breath with them deeply
Open Your Arms as Wings Against the Wind
"Human beings always discard things behind them."
The seasons are reincarnated as the suffering earth gives birth to itself again
We see the birth, but not the existence
Every road will eventually lead to a branch road
Time leaves its master behind
"What swallowed by you will swallow you up."
Between man and nature
I am a huge empty house of my own
The only way out is without a retreat
Like a tree in winter
Breaking out towards the top of your head and the sky
"In winter, I seek only those own nothing in the world."
The autumn wind falls on the white hair of the dead leaves
The dead leaves fall on the tongue of lies
Fallen leaves to the tree
Are not merciless, but lack of loyalty
Trees in the winter
Leave, but not abandon
The harsh winter keeps an upward posture
A tree holding snow, a monument in the wind
"In the world, I love only the things do not exist on the earth."
In the world, so many things are falling
Downward gravity, weightless self
Someone stands in the darkness
Like a waxing moon, gazing over the earth and the abyss
Dreams are bald, morals are transparent
What’s broken on the ground is the mercy of frost and dew
"A man is more like a man when he is in distress."
The wind blows into the faceless face of heaven and earth
It never speaks, but tells
Flames of flowers, and magma of clouds
In the empty spider web dreaming swing and love
Love, the stubborn hunter, catches in the vast sky
Human beings and itself falling at any time
"Lethe rather than death is the end of life"
He who becomes himself abandoned himself at the very beginning
The smashed wall and window lose an outcome
The shadow of the back like a lightening splitting itself
Tears the thunder, raindrops, road and runs
Runs with his own head
Countermarching. Those who have lost themselves
Will be strangers to all
Being forgotten. Grieve or remember
The distance between birds and fish. The huge fish
Opens its fins as wings against the wind
The vast world is the lethe of wind and imagination.
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About the author : Qin Feng, real name PU Jianxiong, male, Doctor of Literature. Member of Chinese Poetry Society, member of Sichuan Writers Association. He has won the first Global Chinese Poetry Prize, the first Tianfu Literature Prize, the Great Wall Literature Prize, the Su Dongpo Literature Prize, and the ten Best anti-epidemic poetry prizes in China. His literary works have published on literature journals and albums home and abroad. He is the author the poetry anthology "Stepping on the Horizon".
Translator : Zhang Qiong, an associate professor of School of Foreign Languages of Zhaoqing University, President of Translators Association of Zhaoqing.
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