The swallows return
unveiling the garment of spring
it's a season of greenery
walking in the field
a beautiful painting is in front of you
butterflies will show you the way
light wind will dance
climbing to the top of the hill
the brook will sing for you
run with you
hot sun in the blue sky
will make your body shine
in this sweet season
I'd like to walk with you
and walk into the depths
of the flowery splendor.

Sharpness
of a grain of sand
touches
the nostalgia in
the eye
chrystalizes
the escaping snow
an oil paper umbrella
hurt by
the winter
that took french leave
the fragrance of plum
torn and incomplete
between the dark and damp
narrow tunnel
the pearl of ideas
polished
the wind that
can't be caged
is searching
youthful days
the hasty footsteps
the tethered ideals
in a pond
in a city
caressing
old porcelain
a pool of water
aiming at
the color of willow
on the other
side of the dreamscape.

The stars
look at me
they no longer blink
some thoughts
drowned by the night
half a moon peeks out
from behind the clouds
to adorn a little bit of
my dream
the shooting starry trajectory
such a beautiful poetic scenery
some people wake up at night
some go to sleep
staying up with you
day after day
dream after dream
when the sky is full of stars
that hide our mutual dream
holding your hand and walking with you
into the distant horizon
would have made me
the happiest person
beneath the heaven.

I never lack an audience
even if it's just one person
i have
the cranium of poetry
humbly poised to be placed high
nirvana in a verse
is not to be flaunted
just like the distant incident of snow
remains far and illusive
only the wind knows
the interstice between the heaven and the ocean
the interstices amidst the words
only time knows
i never lack an audience
even if all the readers
who have come from all bearings
have gone
well, i knew that sooner or later
they will leave too
i just hope that when they do
they don't forget it all like a hangover
that'd be a cinch
i never need an audience
time is always by my side
the one true
underwriter.

The temptation
to belly-flop
on a raked pile of leaves
long-awaited greetings
foreign
yet a familiar city
semi worn-out platform
it's oh so simple
ordinary
to know you
but it has made me
think back
on every autumn day
i contemplate
the happiness that extended
from nothing more than chance acquaintance
i want to hold
onto that sweet corner
of my mind
you came in fall
does it have to be a scene
of fading greenery
why do those red leaves look weirdly
teary
my disheveled state of mind at the present time
can't afford to be challenged or tested
though i love the autumn
recklessly
including its solemn austerity
mahogany melancholy
all in honor of the pretty lady
i met you
and inordinately liked you
in that old part of the school
you came my way
and it sure was
an autumn day.

If i had a bottle of magical reagent
I'd take out a third of it
and put it in the sky
and turn the sky as blue
as it should be
if i had a bottle of magical reagent
I would take out a third
and put it in the lake
let the lake return
to its rightful clarity
If I had a bottle of magical reagent
I would take out one-third
and put it in my heart
let my heart be restored
to its original innocence
if there's such a bottle of reagent
I'd think to myself
i would sit
under the azure welkin
watching fluffy clouds
smooth flowing waters
I'd feel as light as the breeze
and my heart as wild
as a bee.

She lived in my inbox,  
a constant pulse of memes and midnight thoughts,  
fragments of her days in a city I’d never walked
a movie recommendation
a reminder to sleep early
a nudge to wake up and try again.  

Even from miles away
she found a way to stay close
weaving herself into my new routine
as if distance was just another setting
to adjust.  

Her life moved forward in photos and captions
shared glimpses of places I could only picture
I watched, I listened, I responded  
but slowly, the messages thinned,  
the spaces between them stretching wider
until silence settled where she used to be.  

Yet
even now,
some nights I still hear her voice in my head:  
“Go to sleep early”  
as if she’s still looking out for me
somewhere beyond the screen.

In the theater
under the indigo curtain
of night
the lovely fruits still have
the wings of leaves
dazzling earrings joggling
shining
in a night
punctiliously built
by you
behind you is
a sodden wall
like the part of the world
that is cold
a song without tears
is the shrill of rocks
on the precipice
there's
too much imagination
trekking.

Needless to say
my heart is sometimes a jungle
a wilderness
there are many little
monsters that stalk the landscape
sometimes they behave like a ginger fawn in the headlights
sometimes like a lone wolf with blue stripes
sometimes they wriggle like anthias fish
sometimes sleep like a serpent
i have no way to confine them
nor can i bear to
they too
need care and comfort
when they're hungry they need me to feed them
if i don't see them for days
have they forsaken
left me behind
i just have to ask
as if they never existed
i'm always so focused on the deities and gods
little monsters also need to be nourished by love
when they feel the warmth love thawed and molten
they become more innocuous, pure and lovelier
than humans or immortals
this brought me to a realization
so called monsters or savages is just
a lack of affection
and the harm caused by limitations
the harm which is invisible at the root
it stems from established prejudices, discrimination, contempt
which more often than not
they are unintentional oversights, misunderstandings and ignorance
why do i love so hard
maybe because there are still too many little monsters
in my digital world.

Under the eaves,
the jangling
clanking raindrops,
asked a slate,
"Listen carefully,
did i break something",
was it a fresh surprising dream,
or a fragmented mood,
the slate wordless,
suspiring.

A place of silence
the bed of an exhausted runlet
parched and windless
it can make us remember
the part when we touched
some of us used it as a mirror once
saw in its rippling
the shimmering scales
of fleshed out time
it seemed real
it's frightening to realize it's real
we can recall when the never-ending flow
is exhilarating
alive
unlike other mysterious phenomena
now everything seems irretrievable
though we can still vaguely
hear its voice
in our lives
everyone carries with them
a streamlet
but we never want to be clear
about the existence
and future of the stream bed.

Tonight
winds are small
still there is a chill
the warmth of poetry
for me it's always been
here
it's great to be able
to write some tidy
things down
like butterflies in springtime
as always enthusiasm
can set poetry alight
brighter and brighter
tonight
i indulge in warm writing
i take the initiative
to be with poetry.

Days of pots and pans
ladles and bowls
sweet words have been
cut down
during the day
the habitual silence
can only be broken
with stainless steel forks and spoons
at night the bed routine
both tied back to back
snoring and buzzing of mosquitoes
intimate conversation happened
a long long time ago
this double bed
bigger than the endless night
the fatigue and exhaustion
they can only tell you the next morning
with a wry smile.

The lullaby of cicadas
has put the village
to sleep
at this moment
strips of waxen haze
swaying
every household
slowly.

That year
we met
watching you smile
from afar
i dared not look back
that month
we started getting used to texting
on a daily basis
exchanging stories and banters
encouraging each other to go through
things we had to go through
that day
you said out of the blue
you decided to stop talking to me
cold turkey
i could not
that night
i saw some of ourselves
in some Makoto Shinkai movies
you and i
we could not go back it seemed
that moment
i let it happen
you and i became sudden
strangers.

Watering the plants
is not a meaningless task
crumbs of green in their pots
growing as they please
random yet adamant
i'm a little tired in this
early summer evening
on this 18th floor balcony
they have become my scenery
perhaps not willingly
but i feel natural and fulfilled
the goldenrod
the boat orchids
the spearmint
periwinkle and lantana
i fill a plastic container with water
slowly i imbue it into the
gradually darkening dusk
earlier i was reading some blogs
with lofi music playing on my phone
fresh and fluent
the mood is like opening a door
then another door
the plants enjoy the melody now in stillness
they make no further comments.

Outside the window
autumn coming
singing the song
of the valley.
The cattle in the countryside
awakened the autumnal breeze
the flowers next to the hill
drinking the autumnal dews
the golden waves of grain
clapping
all are listening
to this.

The silent night
and silent ocean have
the silent moonlight
no wind
no ripples
beneath the silent lamps
are the silent eyes
the ocean knows
a lot of stories of
mermaids
and shipwrecks
and why does it still remain
silent
in the silent night
don't wanna watch the stars
just wanna know
whether the storm has sounded
when will the rain come
where does the wind rest
when will the waves
wake
tonight
wanna leap into the ocean
to shatter the silent surface
and tear the silent
color of night.

Chaotic winds
whir and wail all day
skewing clocks and towers
ponderous footsteps
of pumpkin
tainted night
twisted space
scattered light falls
like blades of rain
between the evergreen
a mutual transmission of
unusual potential horror happening
whirl of emptiness
a dead river
bone-eating road
murky sound shimmers
gradually from the strings of mirage
spatial queries galore
skeletal fingers pressing on pain and sores
chaotic winds herald
a slightly terrifying
muddied scene
contorted space
meager light pierces the dark
galloping horse flows into sight
dreams begin
festival and fantasy merge
clamor of dust disappears
silence after the explosion
a sole survivor
quiet gladiator
battle garb cloaked in endless skies
regalia of stars
tamed shadowy beasts of forest
strong sounds of symbols
breaths sink into deep sea
below the bed at midnight hide
a starry dream
swimming fish
drifting silence
translates wandering wraiths
into undecipherable scripts
on stones of grave.

What is happiness
some say it's a bowl of rice
to allay hunger
some say it's a glass of water
to quench thirst
what is happiness
some say it's a piece of clothing
to cover
our bodies
some say it's a pair of shoes
so that we walk without hurting
our feet
what is happiness
some say it's when you
help others
and you hear
a thank you
and your heart
is touched
some say happiness is family love
that can melt the coldest ice in the world
some say happiness is having a good job
doing the things you like to do
some say happiness is a warm home
with that someone who cares
who makes it feel summery
when you're in winter dreaming
some say happiness is having some close friends
with whom your joy and worry can be shared
what is happiness
some say happiness is being wealthy
enjoying a luxurious life
some say it means having a healthy body
having your true love
what is happiness
everyone has their own answer
happiness is probably
the companionship
of peace.

Snowflakes,
peregrinating,
the anonymous sky,
the majestic earth,
embracing,
the glistening crystal,
gift,
hoping the time and space,
could stop,
hoping that,
time could stroll a little,
and linger.
Spotless snow,
muddy roads,
whos messing with,
whose hope.

A touch of the setting sun
clouds redly stained
the wind skims through jungles
and mountains
then stops
at the entrance to the valley
solitary whispers of birds
awaits
wandering alone
in the wilderness of time
sun gradually drops
a few big trees
hold up the sky
in this valley i'm reaching
as if trying to catch yesterday's sun.

A sketch
A cigar burning,
smokes,
loitering indoor,
the acrid smell,
abrading,
the undersize room,
a solitary versifier,
at a table with,
rose motif,
scribbling,
the longings of stars for the clouds,
the pyrotechnics flickering,
the heat of wine,
evanescing.
Sleepless,
in the dead of night,
the fountain pen,
stranded on the paper,
staining,
arbitrarily,
till the break of day,
rendering,
ink wash painting,
a lifelike,
buttonneire of roses,
delivering,
words unspoken,
intricate sentiments.

In a pure world
music and birdsong
spinning
the lingering
melancholy
no more sadness
only memories
and longings
prostrating on the trails
of yellow leaves
counting the rhythms
of loneliness
the handsomeness of the island
the dreaminess of
the susurration of the beach
the elegance of the sails
the water as always
beating the stippled quietness
awaiting the next dawn
a ketch drifting on the ocean
shining a turquoise light
portraying the poetry
of the predawn
or the predawn hilarity of
the fish and shrimps
in the ocean
this is a pure world
and there is music
and running water in it
and the samisen of moods
and the psaltery
of the nature
whats more
the happy pixies shuttling
in the forest
of purity.

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 wind lifts you up
the waves are
your angry face
calmness is
your supple beauty
the tide is
your love for the earth
because in your blood
every drop of it comes from
the rivers on the land
the breadth of your mind
makes you immeasurably
wise and sophisticated
your underwater world
nourishing all lives
constituting
a huge natural ecosystem
the world is gorgeous and colorful
because of you
you don't change your character
your passion
your glamor
your vision
never
you believe that life is
always wonderful
and a sincere life is
your feelings that
come from
afar.

Pulling the bow
musical notes catapulted
from the deck of the aircraft carrier
fly far into the distance
a roc flapping its wings
on the crest of a wave
a group of horses
galloping on the grassland
the strings are rigid
the bow is flexible
in between
there's smoke rising
there's the vastness of field
when the sound is just right
the sky calms down
to listen
to the jade
ancient tide.

Night
guzzled the day
drawing creative grafitti
his way
veiling gray hazy silhouettes
mining the hourglass of time
groping for the stream
of life.

I can't help but text her
pretend to be casual
asking how she is doing
i put down my phone
and found out suddenly
that one person
just walked into my heart
just like that
it turns out love is so simple
i started to miss her
couldn't help but care
about every day
in another city
every time i receive a soft greeting
i feel fine
love is just simple
every night
i can't help but recall
her smile
over and over again
i always want to
bury it deep in my heart
but can't help to want to
see it resurface
in front of my eyes
love is just a limbo
it's that simple.

Life is
like a painting
in it
there’s always
a quest for the moon
hung aloft
and the sempiternal secret
of the sun
there’s always
unchained serenity
the axiom of
the harmony of nature
there are always
lofty mountains
close to heavens
not so far away
a twisty river
peregrinating
not a mirage
a boat carrying
dreams of a millenium
leisurely smokes curling
atop a chalet
birds flying
into the sky of liberty
fish swimming
toward the horizon
of ecstasy
the baby wind
asleep amidst a copse of trees
alive in this
simple peaceful
idyllic painting.

If today

I never wrote

I would have disappointed

this spring

I can't remember

last year

or even springs before it

I can't remember how many split

seconds surrounded me tenderly

like water

I hide in the house

can't see the crimson of a certain flower

can't hear the sound

of a delicate bud jumping for joy

I can only

hold a cup of aged green tea

fantasy or speculation

glistening verdant details

of all things

when I look back at so many springs

many years later

I remember this

every breath I breathed

I had waited.

I want to climb this mountain

I fear not its height

the mountain becomes tiny

when there is a belief in victory in me

i want to climb this mountain

i fear not the dense brambles and thorns

so be it if i had to leave behind

a trail of my own blood

i will still break through the spiked army in the end

i want to climb the mountain

i am not afraid of tigers nor leopards

as long as there is a shotgun in my hand

the beasts will run off

with tails between their legs

i will climb this mountain

i am not afraid of bumpy roads

as long as i treat it like staircase

the mountain is nothing but a lotus

at my feet.

Yesteday
some memory's been lost
like clouds
like rain
like moon
like the path beneath the moonlight
like the shadows on the path
today
a trace of sound's picked up
its the sea
its the boat on the sea
its the paddles on the boat
the sail on the ship
memory drew a route
while the sound's
in
another harbor.

If there's a rock
facing the sun
for me to sit on
a warm bright sun
that shines upon me
a clear stream
flowing tinkling
in front of me
and some free time
for me to spend
freely
i'm a happy man.

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.

Picking up,
the moon,
from a creek,
watery shadow,
silvery tears,
esconced in,
the the waterlilies.
the sleepless koi,
the gliding joy,
in my dream,
a widening net,
spread,
everyday,
over a gurgling rivulet,
salvaging,
your smile.

Moon falls behind hills
solitary shadows
autumn wind
silence
bits of stars
vague and remote
walking amongst
ancient trees
in a courtyard
in the depths
of a temple
the flicker of lamps
the saffron of robes
the sound of wooden fish
the sound of Namo Amitabha is
peace
quiet like a flower, a grass
a wind, a rain
a sand, a stone
a dream, a season.

The night,
the beach,
the jungle,
the footsteps,
moon rising,
sea tempting,
the addiction,
the undulating waves,
her breath,
in the water,
fish who know not sadness,
corals,
a surprise,
seabed,
moist and warm,
raging,
surging,
emotional waves,
secrets about life,
wind plucking the strings,
murmurings of a song,
ebb tide,
the beach,
moribund.

Specks of stars,
crushed in the jam-packed sky,
thus powdery light,
spilled down,
on earth.

Traversing,

a snowfield,

walking,

into the woods,

shadows of leaves,

disappeared,

winter wind overhead,

can't blow away,

the only figure,

here,

reeds flickering,

along the trace of dream,

searching,

a sound like magnet,

tenderness like water,

warmth like fire,

through the transient,

sunshine.

That day
I put her name
within a eulogy
I won't remember her
anymore
that day
I got her name
engraved on a headstone
buried with the years
long gone
that day
no flowers and hope
her name
i won't think about it
ever again
then
her name
disappeared in the sea
of my mind
farewell the one
who crushed my soul
silently.

Where there is water
there is greenness
where there is greenness
there must be elegant
shadows of butterflies
feel life
with your heart
and you'll find
beauty is all around
a wandering journey is hard work
but the distant landscape
the trees the flowers
the colors
it's so poetic
intoxicating
it's picturesque
happiness.

Don't you feel tired
moving back and forth
pulled by the sun and moon
the pattern of mechanism
the weariness of the waves
the sorrows and joys
become
the umpteen
stories.

Northern lights
The breath of wind,
blowing open the door,
of the heart,
letting the petals of dream in,
a kind of feeling,
falling in love with the screen of heaven,
playing a video of,
pictures of memories,
the lost season,
the northern lights,
hot boiling dream lost,
in the direction of the,
lights,
a touch of coolness,
awakened,
shimmering silks of light,
of dawn,
awating.

Ancient temple bathed in morning sun


lotus blooms quietly in front of the hall


here i am an uninvited visitor


lost in the golden Sanskrit sounds


bells of the temple echo deep in the mountains


looking at the solemn face of Buddha


unspeakable thoughts flow slow


thousands of books i've read


just to find an answer


thousands of miles traveled


just to find a place where the soul can dwell.

Did you hear a golden star perish in the forest
it's the acacia manumited from the branches
did you feel a greenish pressure
it's the breeze sliding down from the leaves.