Puzzle
Standing between good and evil, between the two frozen poles, at last between man and man, and, looking hard, I simply cannot understand how in the world life can make both ends meet.
Poetry
On the Summer Goddess who Should Be Nameless
There are two things you have to worry about about her: she opens up for you and she closes up on you, but you shouldn't worry too much about it because this is the way she is and this is the way you are: You just shouldn't mention her name. She loves you in her…
Withering
All withers in the autumn air: wine quickly wears off: Bleak and dismal, it's always like feelings felt at parting. At dusk, I lean on a pillar: I don't go home; My heart breaks at the patter of wind and rain on the green lotus.
Proof
So far no one's confirmed the words that say we're made of earth. Yet there they are in writing. A title on the blackboard — the teacher vanished without warning, his lecture gone undelivered. Tell me, you digger of deep wells, …
Tune: Echoing Heaven’s Everlastingness No.1
Orioles bubble in the shade of green sophora, secluded courtyard empty this spring day noon; painted curtain hangs, golden phoenixes dance, solitary, but the embroidered screen, one stick of incense. Clouds in the azure sky have no fixed home; in vain my dreaming soul comes and goes;…
Birthplace
What if time came to a stop? Surely the end would be struck dumb. Up on the hill the house where you were born is waiting for you to build it again. How and with what — bricks, wasn't it? The chimney's all you can remember: smoke vanishing in spirals like the string of a…
Mourning At The Strings Of My Concubine, Miss Yang’s Zither
Her soul has returned to the deep void, her spirit returned to mist: She stayed among mortal men for only eighteen years. Yesterday, I gave away her skirts and sashes to monks, My heart broke: they still were tied to the strings of her lute.
The Future
If I flash, you'll appear. Backs turned from the present, how can they hope to greet you? You're just like me, predicted for the very place we'll miss each other. Like lightning and thunder— though we come as one, we're revealed as two.
Recording Events
in times of rebellion, the seasons perversely scurry by; on cloudy days, the sun is quick to set. speechless, I scratch my white head and lean, grief-stricken, on the eastern gate.