When the river converge, there is the self.
The valley is the heart, water as thoughts.
As such, my thought flow through the valley;
forming a river of myriad dots.
Where the spring arrive, the river follows.
In the end, river return to river, water to ocean;
The ocean is the self.
Therefore, changing the self is changing the heart,
changing the heart is changing the thought,
The mountain is the world, behind river is mountain.

My heart, roofless, it searches for the spirit.
Whisper of birds in the silent Valley,
Songs of the moonlight bloom,
There I find tranquility.
Drifting thousands leaf,
I see what other not see.
Dwelling hundreds rest,
Other see what I not see.

Spring blossom as old willow rejuvenate.
Our cup of wine has wilt since last autumn,
leaving behind only dried wine-cup.
Old feathered red moon grazed past fog,
I sat by the cold dreary stone.
Like last summer, I held a wine-cup in hand.
Kneeled, a splatter of bitter taste splash your grave,
I still remember our vow last autumn.
The two cup were filled last autumn,
this spring, I can only pour one.

A sitting sparrow on old willow branch,
the raindrop reflect my thought like moon upon lake.
The heart stir thousands thought.
Man is witness to heaven and earth,
his spirit bellowed in-between.
Where the heart tilt, heaven shift.
Where the heart waver, earth tremble.
So small... so this is my will.
Reflecting in my heart, the ripple is the will.
Insignificant and short-live;
but a single will to move the world.

A leaf drifting thousand miles,
against the wind, it live.
A mountain stood arrogantly,
against the withering time, it live.
Therefore, those who persist are alive,
the dead dare not struggle.
Struggling is life, persisting is life,
but life is not struggling or persisting.

Where my spirit goes, I longed.
Spiritless, my heart wander aimlessly.
In this faraway land, life persist.
Hatred, happiness, sadness are many,
yet the heart is one.
In the end, all stemmed from the heart.
Cold, but also warm,
sadness before happiness,
one is many; many is one.

The song of eastern river from afar.
Once again, time has come to visit.
Like the thread that you hold,
time weaves and unfold.
While my memories is still strong,
I recite this old song.
Life is cut and stilled in the midst of time,
with moments engraved in heart,
I sing this song in time.