"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.
Between walking and staying, the days swaying,
Sink into the transparent love.
At the moment, the ring of the afternoon is a piece of bay
The world swings in stillness.
Everything was clearly visible, and everything was hard to catch.
Everything is in sight and nothing can be touched.
Paper, book, Pen, Glass,
Perched in the shadow of his name.
Time is shaking in my temples, repeating
The syllables of eternal blood.
Light will be indifferent to the wall
into a ghostly reflective theater.
I find myself in the center of my eyes,
Staring at himself with a vacant stare.
Instant in the diffuse. Motionless,
I stayed, and I went: I was a pause.
--Octavio · The path between walking and staying
Maybe I was wrong to accept the hint of the bridge.
Maybe there's nothing between you and me
A river like that.
Maybe all the noisy troubles
It's a heart we're all upset about.
The sound derived from it
Just hold my hand.
I don't really care where I'm going with you this whole life.
If you're destined to be my anchor
--Wang Yan Ding's thoughts about the bridge
When you are old, grey and sleepy,
Tired of sitting by the fireside, taking down this book,
Slowly read, chasing the eyes of the dream
The soft and shenyou of the faint shadow.
How many people loved your youth's shadow,
Love your beauty, false or True,
But one loved the Pilgrim heart of yours,
Love the scars of your sorrows face years.
At the grate, you bend your waist,
Whispering, with a shallow sadness,
How love is gone, and how to walk on mountains,
How to hide a face between the stars.
--Yates when you are old
Breathing. In the nose.
To feed some fresh air from the mountains.
All eyes can see the wild flowers uphold open
The butterflies are dancing for this grand opening
When it rains, it can extract dew from the rain.
When the weather clears, you can also collect light from the sun.
The clouds overhead will cast a shadow on your heart
Afraid. To make a beautiful wish
Wrapped in that shadow.
--Blanger's Simple Life
You will love me someday, I can wait
Your love grows slowly;
Like this flower in your hand, it's gone through
April of sowing and the nourishment of June.
Today I sow a seed full of seeds,
At least a few will root;
The fruit of the knot, though you refuse to pick it,
Though it is not love, it will not be a bit worse.
You'll at least look at the ruins of love--
A violet before my grave;
Your eyes are made up of thousands of bitter love,
What's the harm of dying? You always have the love of my day.
Robert Browning, You'll Love Me Someday