A Gambler’s Cost

When a story is told twice
The first meaning is already lost;
A sigh ensued, over a gambler’s cost,
Lamenting life’s virtue and vice.

When a man goes down the same path,
Apples on the trees are already gone;
A shadow cast, with no color done,
Mocking the red-nosed clown’s math.

How much debts carried over birth,
Could have been paid in current cash;
A fool’s inexplicable mirth,
Make all forgiving hearts abash.

Walk on, walk on, the living ghost,
Return to visit your endearing host.

It’s time I grew up

It’s time I grew up. I could blame it onto other people, and I could blame it onto life. And my life would spin out of control little by little, bit by bit, and I could still blame everything onto other people, onto life. But then what would become of me? I do not know, but it is not hard to predict.

The old fable about the shepherd losing his sheep is a great lesson. I cannot take everything for granted. Sartre is right in saying that we are the choices that we make. Regardless how the universe operates. Regardless whether god exists, in what form. The simple lessons in life are actually not that complicated and almost do not require much level of sophistication. What matters is that we DO have control. And if we surrender that, life is essentially meaningless.

I have no clairvoyance. In fact, I am not even smart in that I always learn my lessons the hard way. But as long as I learn. As long as I keep being humble. As long as I still have hope. And yet it’s time I grew up.

Master’s Voice (some haikus)

1.
A fond memory,
Like a mild warm April breeze,
Touched my chestnut hair;

A love affair forlorn,
Like a sweet blast of spring rain,
Wetted my cheek bone.

2.
O my darling dear,
Although it was long time ago
I still miss you more.

3.
But ’tis meant to be,
Resounds His voice in my ear,
Learned and understood.

4.
So goodbye my love,
How much I didn’t want to go,
and please fare thee well.

成长的日子

1.
成长的日子里他们喜欢说“爱”
好像“喜欢”不过是蝴蝶的翅膀
而爱装满了空荡荡的行囊
沉甸了一个旅者的脚步和肩带

这个字有点石成金的意思
说着说着，石头也变得金灿灿
发着光；他们不知道它是不是金子
有个不知轻重的小孩，有一天

拿起了那金光闪闪的东西
才发现竟然是一只金色羊毛的小羊
沉沉的，像个熟睡的孩子
咩的一声，震动了坚硬的心房

多年以后，小羊死了
金色的羊毛也都蜕去
留下灰色的晦暗的毛皮

2.
说过的话，抛在空气里
像涟漪般从扬起的嘴角荡漾开来
语言的精灵消失在闪现的片刻
成为信使穿梭于人间和神的住宅

3.
我手里拿着镰刀和口袋
举目望去是一望无际的金色田野
有没有一株倍受青睐的小麦
既不过度饱满，也不特别干瘪

我弯下腰四处寻找那一棵麦穗
刹那沧海，金色麦田转眼成枯萎
怅然伫立，清风吹动我的裙裾
带着一阵微醉的成熟稻穗的香气

不知所云

我听见风的声音
好像在低吟，诉说着
世人都听不到的痛楚
阳光洒落屋子
愁郁的黄色
凝结在玻璃窗户上
我站在窗口，弄不清
这个世界是什么样子的

来一杯酒吧，也许醉了
反而看得更清楚
玛格丽特，粉红色的诱惑
马丁尼，褐色的血液
不，我都不要，给我来一杯
北京的二锅头
或者武汉的黄鹤楼

我没有醉。我是手持宝剑的勇士，
在痛苦的丛林里劈荆斩棘
黑色的紫色的巨大的花朵
张开血盆大口，仿佛狰狞的欲望
生着章鱼触手般的藤蔓
要将我绊倒

而我不能被绊倒，
我要在这痛苦的丛林里继续探索、前进
我看到前面有尸骨和脚印
散发着幽绿的萤光，
这里是地狱，还是人间？
心口忽然淌出几滴鲜血，
一阵剧痛
我还活着
紧握手中的宝剑！

没有人，也没有鬼能阻挡我的脚步！
(a.k.a. 让暴风雨来的更猛烈些吧！！！）

The Essence of Pain is Poetry

(an iambic pentameter sonnet)

I could have written in prose, but I choose
the Poetry, ’cause it is essence of pain.
It is not sentences, it is not words;
It is but line after line after line

of unrhymed feeling, dimmed shrieking, scattered
logic and empty wishes – of the past,
of the splendor of yesterday, gold-clad,
Swooned, I became a slave to beauty last.

Handcuffed and earmarked, shackled and muffled,
Cold and sold – for’ tick’t to your masquerade.
Now comes the Fool on stage, whose blush had fade
Speaking words of wisdom, of woe, echoed

by the chorus – “O love! O fate! O justice!”
Only heard a whisper, sighed, by the cowardice.

燕鸥

1.
我停歇在悬崖峭壁上
那里刻着一个嶙峋的名字
风凛冽
万年之后
是否还辨认得出来？
你是谁？你从哪里来？

我是一只鸟，乘着风来
我的眼睛看得见你看不到的风景
我的背上托负着太阳

2.
我有一颗虚弱可是仍在跳动的心脏
还有一双干瘦可是能够飞翔的翅膀
有的时候
我很想休息一下
放松翅膀，感受
放纵的速度
我想，那仅仅不过是闭上眼睛
任大地拥我入怀

可是我不知道，落脚之处
会是怎样的处所
是沼泽，深林，还是幽谷
一个没有太阳的地方
就看不到自己的影子
我唯一的旅伴啊
你和我一样心里有一颗太阳

3.
燕子从北飞到南
我从北极飞到南极
我的影子越来越长
羽毛上也慢慢的结冰
喘息间吐出白色的空气
我飞得沉重

我希望是一只燕子
细心的用自己的唾沫筑窝
在春暖花开的季节繁衍后代
我也希望是一只海鸥
斜身掠过风平浪静的海湾
在白色的甲板上安然睡着

可我不是燕子也不是海鸥
我是一只燕鸥
不知道为什么
生下来就注定要飞的最远

4.
在风餐露宿的山林
在冰天雪地的原野
在一望无际的沼泽
在暴风骤雨的黑夜
我在等，我在等
等着太阳
从我身后慢慢跟上来
我展翅翱翔