There are love, just not together.
Life and death come abruptly, what a pity.
We are passerby between mountain and river;
We live and we die, nothing more.

People are no different from the changing seasons.  
Like a blooming petal in spring;
One instant, a moment to blossom.
Facing cold rain and wind;
They melt like snow in autumn.

So, how could I judge the heart of people?
Even loved ones must die;
Meeting strangers is like stepping on puddles.
It's strange you are now far like the sky.
So I ask, is it you leaving, or am I muddled?

At times, I wish you stayed.
To dwell in old times is like licking empty bottles.
Now night feels no different from day.
Try as I may, memories are like novels.

To live is to experience tribulation.
How can there be rainbow without rain?
To live is to experience mortal dusts.
How can there be rain without water?
To live is to experience life's rust.
How can there be rust without metal?
To live is to achieve happiness.
How can there be happiness without sad things?

Life have my heart drenched;
In what, I do not know.
Often I feel lonely; like branches laying on shallow water.
When the water is muddy, it’s difficult to see my heart;
When it pulse, ripples arise.
The moon is my sole partner;
Yet extending my hand — like life, illusionary.
Water paved where we stand,
Like sand, time drips through our grasp.
We as people are no different from common grasses.

Life has it agenda,
First then second, finally third.
Remind ourselves that memory are faint history;
To let history replay for the future to unfold.
Time weld life into death; so is death to life.
Here I stand, where it all started;
Gazing back, life was once better.
Ultimately, departure is inevitable;
Where else can one go without longing?
Longing are fleeting calling;
Appeared like faint snow, disappeared with one blow.

The world is but a single step,
A hundred step a minute;
People live with miseries.
Heaven is as clear as history;
Therefore, I use heaven as a mirror.
To portrait those that suffer,
Those who worries,
And those who bear so sorrow,
How many can live so carefree?
Your heart are troubled;
Yet my heart says otherwise.
In the end, where you find sorrow;
I find happiness.
Life is all about perspective;
Those who live suffer;
Those who suffer will live;
Life is suffering.

Trouble, good o’ friend;
Have you come to visit me once again?
I passed the streets, walking through paved stones;
Looking through stalls as people dance.
Like dusking eve, blown where life shown;
In solitude, in dismay, I am not at home.
For who have you come for, if not my lone heart?
The clouds downpour, life is like a dart.
People drift along like dripping blood;
I find blood easy to dry, yet a longevity of stain.
Smear myself in cold blood, my attire continues changing.
If only, if that, if then, good o’ friend;
Must you only live by if?

Tea leaves ever-reaching,
Between willow and lake,
A reflection of the past.
Grass flake, wind strides,
Rustling my heart, life has passed.
You have come, whom mind to grasp?
Ink is numb, painting never lasts.
Silver blossom flower shed tears;
Are you here?
My painting incomplete, Ink where?
Your meal to eat, life once again repeats.
The gate is neat, Chang’an never closer;
Heaven open like sheets, Earth is not sober.

Heart burdened, the river turns.
The bed is unmoving, curtain remains closed.
Autumn leaf dance, sun hidden, moon peek;
What is it that heaven seeks?
Tomorrow, I head to Chang’an,
Tonight, I take a sip of wine.
Sun rested, cold wind echoes;
My wine cup has shattered…
Tonight, I can’t take a sip of wine.
My mind drift far between rivers;
Dazzling among the night sky;
I find my heart unable to rest.
Sun has now dawn, my body is feeble;
Withered like ashen embers;
Today, I can’t head to Chang’an.
In the end, Man proposes and Heaven disposes.

Skipping stones along spring river,
One, two, three — finally touching lone pavilion.
Beneath my feet lie petite sprinkle of flowers.
Clear willow branch brushing against my shoulder,
the clouds shriek, heaven downpour, earth sorrow,
man can no longer borrow.
Our wine-cup has long grown old,
promise has long been sold.
On my last breath,
I skip these stones, where our promise last postponed.

Here is quiet, breezy cold air,
life is one dazzling snare.
Where snow orchid blossom,
I find cool summer, warm winter;
but greatness never come sooner...
My back disobey, the wind is too cold.
My ear speaks, the peak alone.
I wanted to be great, to be dazzling,
must my heart make a killing?

Truth and lies, I once distinguish the two.
Reality is truth, but why...
Because Reality is constant;
Time is truth, because it is constant,
constant because they cannot be change.
Understandable, some cannot accept the truth,
accept reality, why?
Because they cannot change the constant.
People will root toward earth,
Love will attract one another,
Sad will follow happiness,
these are all constant, what we call truth.
Lies is just another constant,
a constant that does not match their own,
therefore, people label lies away from truth.

Be still toward one’s heart, not letting it control one’s body…
Be still toward one’s body, not letting it control one’s mind…
Be still toward one’s mind, not letting it control one’s heart…
Ultimately, all thing began from the heart.
As such, we must live and fashion our way to our heart.
To forgo all things...
Let time fly by, as a long time friend would.
Let life drift over our head, as the bird do.
Let the wind embrace us as we ***** the hill, as nature wield.
So long, so far, the Stillness of all things comes and go.
Life are borrowed, not owned…
When hollowed, we are simply paying back the debt we own.
Heaven cannot move me,
Earth cannot bend me,
as such, my heart is truly still.

I open window to greet ashen sky,
A shy fellow he is, covered in misty clouds.
Laying in my bed, I douse myself In comfort.
Too comfortable… Watching bamboo spoon falling,
My finger too limped to react,
So I let it thump the floor.

The mountain is hard to climb, river shifted,
I have no trickle or mote of strength.
I see that now the window's bright again.
Besides the road, cloudy mist feed into blossom,
Each petal further adding one more to spring.
My sigh mourn in snow dust,
Yearning, my writing continue to spread.

In life, I cross with red dust.
We are blades of grass, amidst war, we sway.
Visited by lustful desire, we succumb to its whisper.
Should I fight my desire?
Visited by sad news, we succumb to despair.
Should I fight my desire?
Mortal dust continue to drift, landing on my frugal body.
In the end, let them all come, greet them as sire.
Succumb to lust, to grief, to joy, to pleasure,
But let my heart abide - pay red dust no heed.

I dwell in this vast world.
Seeing loved one's passing through life.
Believe that my heart can soar above heaven.
Believed that my heart transcend heaven,
Yanking the soul of my people away,
Place them back on earth.
If my heart still lingers on earth,
How could I soar nine heavens above?
If my heart is above heaven,
Why would my heart desire mortal dust below?
Dust to dust, mortal dies,
let begone bygone, cleaning the dust off myself.

I fear many things.
Fear that one day, my loved one die.
Fear that one day, I leave them behind.
Fear that they one day leave.
When lonely, I fear none.
Karma long severe, I put no heed to life.
Walking in life once again,
they came back to me.
Once in my hand,
I fear that I will lose it.

Living carefree, unrestrained,
That is my heart dao.
To live so freely, transcend reincarnation,
one must overcome life.
Whom to where my eyes stride,
See trillions upon trillions of mortal heart dao.
The road is endless, so is my heart.
If the heaven wield, then earth pave.
If the world shielded, then my heart pierce.
The ocean is many, the many is one.
The dao is many, the many is one.
The heart is many, many is one,
Greed, Love, Hatred, Jealously,
desires stem from the heart.
The myriad things are dao,
ultimately the many whence one.

Sitting at my desk, is a cup of coffee.
A sip to burn my tongue,
I feel at ease with warmth.
No longer do I ponder of truth
nor hearing any owl hoot,
the street that is an isle
is now not so wild.

In our lifespan, by the time we truly understand,
Understand what we are living for,
We are already old.
‘Spring’ represents ‘Youth’,
As the four season change,
Time flows quickly as well.
Our memories are faint like a river of stars,
My longing is as clear as the moon in the sky.
Autumn has knocked my door once again,
I continue to weave green thread,
Forming a spiral.
Engraved there my memories,
Autumn has taken it elsewhere.
Where I stood has turn pale,
‘Winter’ represents ‘Wither’.
I began to plant last year flower,
Outsider are crossed-eye,
While I alone tend to the flower til summer.

Every day, every week, every month, every year;
I try to hold the time in my hands.
But like a mote of dust, they slip through my finger,
reminding me that time will always expand.
Each day, I try to stay true to myself
But my reflection keeps on changing.
Each second I try to live without future in mind,
But my past forever sing me old songs.
I know even my own song will fade away,
like the people who spread rumor,
But until that time come, I continue to lay;
lay down in life oblivious to my future;
in the end, this old song continue to spin through my life.

The time I drift, is when I find peace.
When in love, it's hard to find tranquility.
When in rage, it's difficult to reason.
Tranquility even when in love,
Reason in the midst of rage,
how many can?

From your eyes to the tip of my hair,
In a dusk filled with lantern;
There I sit.
Who knows, who seen, who can, who for.
Many times waking up from my dreams,
the world is not what it seems.

Like clouds, like rain, like a dance, like fragments;
silver butterflies are converted breeze of stardust.
palace collapse, shrine ruined, covered in dust and dirt,
My river remain as dusk, valley remain unmoved.
A red string tied around fingertips;
one beginning representing life,
one end representing death;
forming reincarnation.

You've brought a lonely soul;
passing time with a ghost;
The rising dawn remain the same,
but the person doesn't.
Three thousand glistening lanterns,
listening to pray from low to high;
Wishing for wealth,
Wishing for success,
Wishing for health,
Wishing for recess,
Til the end of time, I wish only you.

Once a little swain, Time has passed.
Chaos and Order, like petal drifting lake;
An Emperor of the east.
A thought to move millions,
A finger to predestine the people.
At the end, The peak resemble my hometown,
People have move, merchant comes and goes;
A place carved from ancient painting.
Serving the people is my duty,
Earth Beneath, Heaven encompassing;
Jaded life is now willow in winter.

The rain embraced earth,
leaving behind morning dews and vigor.
Somewhere along the distant town, I hear an aged song.
Swirl swirl, I once roam the world.
Azure sunset, Tears of spring, The world once my mount.
Mountain thoughts, River heart, Valley self,
My River is dried, ocean emptied,
Simply a Drunken fisherman in the sunset.

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.

Fisherman is earth, his net is life,
Fish is Man, Ocean is heaven.
Sway by the earth, we dwell in life.
Entangle in this life, Earth is now home;
Ocean is just an illusion.
The fish move where the net moves,
The net move where the fisherman goes,
The fisherman move where the ocean drifts,
Man who dwell in life only see his net,
not both the drifting fisherman and ocean.

Tides rise and fall, the moon up and down,
sun waking west and east,
Heaven and earth.
Aloof, not that the world is beneath me,
The heart yearn for freedom,
Therefore spirit became he.
Man yearn for the sky, but can only daze on earth.
Therefore, Sky became their heaven,
Beneath became their Earth,
and Man became... its witness.

I enjoy the tangy of spring,
tasting plum wine as cherry blossom.
Eastern river is dried bamboo shoots,
a sweet yet melodic taste brings me home.
At the end of the river is where my heart lays;
a vast, endless ocean;
sadly, people only see fishes in little Ju lake;
the river behind the lake,
ocean behind river that's hidden.

In Autumn river, my thought drift and came.
The people are flaky as withered leaf,
their fickleness that put my past to shame.
A once vibrant pears is now not so green.
Name lost in time, face forgotten;
the person is now foreign.

I walk through life,
writing countless stories.
Surely of thousands stories,
a dozen would be deaths.
Plucking death from life;
is plucking seed from a fruit.

What is there to gain?
We say life have no reason, purpose, nor excuses.
So what say we live?

Plucking the seeds;
I witness countless threads.
From the bitterness of fate;
to the sadness of departure;
down to the solitary of loneliness.

I fear fighting those who have nothing,
those with nothing find comfort in death.
But... is death truly nothing?
Life is full, but emptied to the eyes of death;
Therefore, I tend to see life as nothing
and death as nothing;
ultimately, seeing through life and death.

Blood is thicker than water.
A drop of water can shatter the greatest hardness,
can blood do the same?
With blood as ink,
Water as canvas,
kingdom fell and rises.
Kinship is perpetual;
blood represent ill-omen,
and fortune.

What is meaning?
To be born with no purpose,
is to be born without a meaning in life.
Therefore, without purpose and meaning,
is without reasons.
How can there be excuse without reason?
That's why your purpose is to find meaning in a life,
a life that has no meaning.
perhaps that’s what makes life unknowingly so meaningful.

Looking at the past, sorry is...
I seek not apology, nor forgiveness,
but silence.
To be born with no purpose,
is to be born without a meaning in life.
No purpose, no reason, no excuse,
as such, I live without regret.

People say I'm a rock.
Sitting here, I wait, not knowing who.
My heart ached, like ink drop in water.
The rain glow over eastern gate,
defeaning the sorrowful people.
Downed in solitary,
the muffle cannot shatter my loneliness.

By the window, the lonely petals drifted,
so did my mind.
I dare not say I am virtuous.
Experienced humiliation, I obtain humbleness.
Live plainly, before lavishly.
Life often contradict itself,
look at death, therefore comprehending life.

What is time in this desolate land…
Sitting by seashore, the world dimmed,
Sky greyed as the sea churned.
The flower once bloomed on mountain sides,
Now long withered, I know not when it blooms again.
Old age, I wait for its arrival.

Quietly, I've waited here so long,
Day after day; but now I must return.
Food is cold, so is winter,
When will you return?

I see that now the window's bright again,
Sun has dawn, food is hot,
But you are naught.

Without past, without intervention,
it is spectating.
Memories are few,
present is new,
none can see, and none can hear,
the role of a spectator.
To see yet not do,
to hear yet not say,
spectator are lonely beings.

Sleeps...
A single step feels like thousand leaps.
The people are near,
yet sounds are not here.
Fear is near,
but people are nowhere here.
Alone, the fear is severe,
with no one here,
how can I cheer?

At times, the road is murky,
colorless as ancient paintings.
Road is far, a character dotting alone,
not the first nor last.
Perhaps... My hometown is still there,
waiting for my return after this walk in life.
Too far... Too far...