"There must be injustice and sadness in the world, but through verse, grievance and sadness can be converted." "Chiang Hsun once said so. Reading poetry is like a process of digestion of sadness, for life to leave some monologue, every week this time, I long for you to leave a time for yourself, parting from the reality of the turmoil, the woman fans only read poems for you.

The city is rainy but it is suitable for walking.
August through the MRT feel lonely
Check your baggage before arrival
No longer like a traveler
With just one word, one notebook and a little lie
Send only one letter in one months, one session at a time.
You said you'd get the letter.
Hear the temperature of the city
Noisy, over-station, bang
November Cold Wind Like
Kiss, but not thoughtful.
The train has been in for a long time
Thinking about the long journey
On the calendar.
Days, months, years
The mist was wet and the glasses dim
Quiet wrist, aching ankle.
You've been spending your energy
Put in the luggage lightly
Pen and cutter with the gradual unfamiliar
Gestures, tongue, habits
Cut into the shape of a ticket when crossing the station
Pull your backpack and zip it.
Too easy to get lost and too easy to lose
Maps, so we have to go more.
Road as a dialogue
dissolved in the street
You have a face
No, you're used to it.
The city is rainy but it is suitable for walking.

The city has rain, but it is suitable for walking Huang Wenjun

The wind is dark
The door is sleeping.
Cold and understanding is the rain
All of a sudden I saw
Confusion is called room
Leaking like a coastline
The body is quicksand, poetry is ice.
Cat slight but waterfowl is time
Skirt of the beach
The Dashed flames
Fables to eliminate parentheses in deep
Spot the sensory senses
You're a fog.
I'm a tavern.
Cold body temperature, the atmosphere of friction, it is understood the situation, go to drink a cup of wine calm down, good to say good-bye.

--Embracing Xiayu

So old,
The arrangement of obedience time,
With its sharp knife,
Remove Youth.
After a few more years, with some white hairs on the head,
Put a few lines of wrinkles on the forehead,
Put some crutches in your hand.
All we have to do in this life is,
Let the time of the bud in our lives,
Open, also fall.
We are the ones who pick up the petals,
The body is covered with earth and incense.

--〈 is so old. Nobrange (Tibetan)

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I'm very young.
Don't say goodbye to anyone.
A little sentimental.
I let myself sit quietly for a while

And then I go.
Yellow satchel on the back
Contain a thin book of poems
The title is a secluded station name.

The station is here.
A lamp is light and warm.
Everybody's asleep.
So I'm the only one
With the sound of the car
It's scattered in the mountains.
Wake up one or two sensitive mountain-dwellers
And get a faint echo

Don't ask.
We've known each other.
To be a true friend in a conversation
to your petition.
It's a natural thing.

I'm going to the prairie.
To tan myself.
Black diary, blue cover.
Go ahead, my friend.
That beautiful ranch belongs to you.
Friends, go.

--Haizi's Station

Soul chooses one's partner
And then close the door.
And no one else can
Breaking into her sacred territory.
Quietly--Let the car
Waiting under the low eaves
Quiet--Let the Emperor
Bow in front of the door
And I know from that vast country
She chose a man.
It's sealed with a boulder.
The gate of the affection

--Emily Dickinson ' Soul chooses his own companion '