The sky is
a calendar
written with the clouds
the sun smiling
day after day
the sea is
a calendar
written with isles
waves and vessels
the propellers rotating
day after day
a calendar on the table
rusty shovel
and hammer singing
paint brush dancing
day after day.

Without true feelings
the most magnificent of words
is nothing but
stuffing or
a pile of bricks
like a bouquet of
artificial flowers
lacking aroma
lifeless
and stuffy
no need for mysteries
just simplicity
let the words stand
at the right positions
or
just put them in
a corner where
the soul is most vulnerable
the solid ice will soon melt
into sunlight
and silence
reading a good poem
is like reading your first love
a momentary thrill of the soul
a sudden bright light
in front of you.

Standing keen deep in the river
of time
feeling the water
flowing slowly
slowly through
my fingers
watching the stars in the sky
listening to the deafening
croaks of frogs
breathing in
the dense wet
water vapor
smelling the grasses
on the shore
the distant wheat
watching the fish
chasing each other
at my feet
listening to the nightingale
singing on a high branch
this is just so
relaxing.

Places we've been to
together
breaths scattered by the wind
gathered in the falling petals
the riverside of April
the peas blossomed with butterflies
memories amongst the clear ripples
are
the endless
vow.

In my childhood
the other side of the ocean
entrusted with wishes
wishes wandering in the sea
growing up
the other side of the ocean
entrusted with an ideal
running on the surface
then flying
soaring.

What is lucky
is it
a passerby who fell down
and found a gold coin
is it
travellers who discovered
ancient secrets
when they took shelter in
a cave
is it the impartial
arrow of cupid
a soldier who was
saved in midst of
gunfire
is it
catching the last train
is it
a ragged beggar
who acquired a 5-dollar meal
is it
a ray of breeze that
deviates the bullet from
its trajectory
lucky is
the fullness of the spirit
the attendant of happiness
the inception of laughter
the heir to
the lucky stone.

The fog spreading
the sunlight trapped
in the cage of the mountains
the village respiting
trees sleeping
soil meandering
the road
screaming.