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.

A girl with a crush
every pure thought in her heart
she buries deep
until she misses
the warmth of spring
the romance in the summer
and the fall season comes
only to realize that love is gone
the days
when she didn't have the courage
to say
the words
bloom in regret
black blue grenade
shrapnel wound
seems an eternity
when she carefully peels back memories
wrapped so tightly in time
she starts to see
a scintilla
pink and odd
a clutch of stars
dark red and blinking
every bit as pellucid
as the teardrop coalesced
in her eyes.

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.

Less of the hustle and bustle

of the past

shuttling pedestrians

dead leaves

winter

sun with open arms

quiet street

a crowd of children from school

a game of chess by old men

sleeping barley and roots

sunlight is the key

to lighting up

this mood.

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.

The bracing raindrops
dripping
onto the wooden trellis
then hitting the stone table
i happened to have just woke up
when dusk is brewing quietly
outside the windowpanes
vestigial sleepiness dissipating
just as gradually
the fluorescent light that's turned on
stings my sense of taste for a second
and i hear the sounds of a busy kitchen
the summer heat is gone for now
i kept myself occupied all afternoon
checking and reading on my phone
if time could stand still
I'd actually like it to stay
like this
people are in a smooth
peaceful mood
it seems
like they were years ago
it also seems perhaps
it will happen again
like years from now.

Imagination is
the ocean at sunset
thought is a boat
emotion is the wind in a morning
life is the home of the sea
inspiration is the direction of wind
ink is the treasure of the hall
love is the gold in the chest
destiny is the shore
imagination is lighthouse
in the dark
thought is a candle
emotion is the symbol
of a tower
life is the guardian of lamp
youth is the power
of a tower
inspiration is the source
of light
ink is the soulmate of life
destiny is the creator of a fountain
inspiration is the marching
footsteps
carrying inspired ideas
the love
of the century
in the universe
of life.

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.

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.

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.

I heard the sakura has blossomed
i heard the moonlight has spilled
sakura in the moonlight
a taste of peace on this windowsill
moonlight embracing sakura
lovingly
it's their moment of intimacy
i should slip away quietly
and go to sleep.

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.

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.

The sea has a smile
a charming smile
that is the wave
the sky too has a smile
and it's the rainbow
the sea has anger
and that anger is
stormy tide
the sky has anger
it's the thunder
the sea has tears
that's the crystal clear
pearls
the sky has tears
that's the shooting stars at night
the sea has happiness
free happiness
it's the fish jumping out of the water
every so often
the sky has happiness
and it's the free-flying birds
gliding toward
their shelter
their paradise
and haven.

Walking alone,
at the seaside,
relishing,
mountains,
trees and flowers,
watching,
escarpment,
cliff and clear water,
at the foot,
the sea and clouds,
united,
on the horizon,
the sky further,
further away,
the sea,
wider still,
and wider.

When it rains, some people run a little
tucking sighs into their collars  
my knuckles tap lightly
on the backseat window
shattering a string of clammy
question marks
you said, we met too soon
before we’d learned how to love
and now I’m grinding restless days  
sharpening them into matchsticks
waiting for a sunny day
to strike some sparks
the rain, keeps stitching up fissures  
while the city slips and slides in puddles
our conversations hang  
like wet clothes dripping on the laundry line  
awaiting the next sun to dry and turn them into  
transparent answers.

A beautiful girl
comes and goes
in and out of my dream
looking up at the clouds
recalling her face
even though mountains block
and the city full of fog
my heart is not lost
because
she's on the other side
of the shore.

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.

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.

In the twilight sun
there's two skylarks
capering about
discussing
i don't know what
just chirruping
just seem to be saying
we are alive
we should be jumping, singing, celebrating
nobody can take this
joy of life
from us.

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.

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.

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.

The soft wind blows
quietens a thin
layer of grass
there's two parallel lines of footsteps
in the sand
the soft wind blows
long hair, a transparent kite line
and a blue sky
the soft wind blows
healing the chaos of branches
leveling the water ripples
leaving a trace of bright
moonlight.

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.

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.

Springtime
warm sunshine
soft wind
in the season of rebirth
a light rain
can make life fresh again.

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

Venus de Milo
is,
a myth
who'd lost her arms,
Pushkin,
the 19th century's fall
of the sun,
the nights engulfing
the stars,
while the stars,
illuminating
the night,
the sounds of piano,
of Beethoven,
piercing the sky,
they are,
stars
that never fall.

Live your life
though it's not an easy thing to do
especially for those who are not born with inheritances
every step of the way is rampant with imbalances
it's also because the world is riddled with contrived rules
everywhere it's still primeval law of the jungle
sometimes we're not strong enough
but at all times we need to think for ourselves
protecting ourselves is the only way
making it possible for us
to live a life
many choose to conform to the practices of the society
some choose to stay true to their humanity
the two choices often find themselves in conflict
not saying there's no reconciliations
staying true to yourself
is not preordained to be a confrontation to the world
sometimes it can be more of an integration
because when you know yourself
you become tolerant of the world
because the more you love yourself
you have to learn to love the world
and slowly you'll be able to live out
your own life
the process is never easy
but it's the only way to understanding life
to loving it most of the time.

Bluestone
speeding like wind
laughter
frozen in time
episodes of warmth
aftertaste like north
it's the very simple
and elegant steps
of bluestone.

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.

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.

Street corner
a ray of light
the pale blue sky
covered with yarn
depicting mystery
stately buildings glowing
the lost smiles
stacked up in early spring
passing sceneries
chaotic lines erasing
the grace of trees
jumping thoughts plummet
buried in the countryside
wandering in a dream
rambling
in a series of flashbacks.

Lost
in the thick green forest
stuck
and can't get through it
to get out
i don't know where i am
don't know what time it is
don't even know who i am
anymore
can't dial the right numbers
can't get through to anyone
finally when i did get through
the person on the other end
would be a family or friend
who sees me as an unknown  
stranger
i think this is a conspiracy
i might have been deleted from the regime
of the human society.

I'm like an overgrown child
in this world
who keeps bumping
and stumbling
I've tried to change too
its emotional intelligence they say
so i put on a mask
and learn to walk smooth
learn to speak in an confident way
but then my true personality
would be exposed soon
becuz the mask makes me breathless
i start to despise the pretense
so I'm back to square one again
and keep banging my head
the world is too big and tall
it's supposed to be able to accommodate all
kinds of people
the first thing you need to do
is grow up
but the only thing left is
i am standing still
i am not afraid anymore
of being alone
i just want to pursue
my own sun and moon.

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.

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.

The sound of
a flute
the whistle of the wind
an old-century bel canto
more ambrosial than
the allayed gale on the book
a siccative for the soul
beautiful and fibrous
warmer than the divinity
with a broken arm
outdoor on the walkway
the sound of flute
the wording of beauty
like being faced with the spring
and the cliffs
the first tone erodes
the stones
the second tone ******
the bones
the thrid tone captured
the thrills at the ends
of the neurons
like waking up
on a divan
in a morning.

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.

A river
flowing mightily
it encounters the plains
she slows down her pace
but
this tender land can't keep her
and she needs to continue
he bumpy journey
drifting is her destiny
drifting to the other side of the ocean
and back again
mountains and valleys
make things difficult
for her
she just
lifts her head up
higher
and one day
a philosopher sees her
lauds her
and seems to hear her say
drops of water made her what she is
today
and it is her duty
to take them to the sea.

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.

The wind rises
in the courtyard
baring extraordinary
imaginings
faithful oscillations
of space time
evanescence of
life and death
always mutedly
move side to side
the wind rises
the whole range of experiences
of a flower-like butterfly
venturing through
the damp and dusty
it makes the bronze in the night
cry in its reply
a rustling sound woke me up
its the sycamore castle outside
that carries the burden of dawn
the tree is just like a book opened
birds, insects etc are inserted in the pages
i walk into the bones
to eavesdrop on the breath of this minute
to learn its calmness
and indifference
towards the coming and going
of multifarious clouds.

Wind of the season
cold or warm
interpreting the changes
of time
with temperatures
leaves
falling and growing
growing then falling
radiating the glitter of life
with colors
swallows
going south and north
coursing south
returning north
expressing a kind of spirit
with endlessness
crossing
the threshold
of the season
with gentleness.

Sometimes,
i wish you're a speedy horse,
and sometimes,
i wish you're a snail,
but if you'd let me,
i wish i could be your owner.

Time is a stream

an eternal puzzle

purging thoughts into the night

the unfinished lovesickness

before happiness awakes

is just more excuses

to write the moonlight

into poetry.

Here

i count the years

story after story

deep-seated feelings

and sincerity

i open a diary

and feel

the four seasons

the love and ambitions

as my heartbeat

accelerates and halts

repeatedly.