眉间的风

风吹落香尘，
影不知归处。
只道风干泪痕，
却往事逐一浮现，
潜入心门。

雨敲打芭蕉，
心无所依归。
一时雨催花落，
恋昔日春水芳菲，
终付水流。

云向何处？
欲展翅高飞，
翱翔万里长空，
洒脱前缘旧梦，
情落九尘。

芳华青山在，
岁月江水流。
我坐在青山之下，
看花落云归，
心已无执，
回响我眉间的风。

c.h.e.f andy

眉间的风·散文篇

风的往事

风起，带起“香尘”—— 是残香落粉，是记忆，是曾经。“影” – 人影、心影、情影。迷惘，不知方向，没有归处。只道过了长时间，泪痕都已风干了——原以为忘了，其实没忘， 是刻骨铭心的曾经，“只道”一词反衬出内心波动。情绪的潮水掩不住了，往事如潮，一幕幕逐条浮现，最终渗入“心门”——情绪进入心扉，也是旧梦再度叩响心灵。

雨的执念与放下

雨打芭蕉，雨声如泣，直敲心扉。外景的雨拍乱了内在的心境，情绪失重，失了平衡，仿佛人漂浮世间，没了依靠归属。一时间，雨催花谢，自然景象，也道出了情感在崩解。眷恋昔日的美好 —— 春水、芳菲，所有的美满，难以忘怀的曾经。昔日美好终付水流，归于空无，归于淡泊。如“流水落花春去也”，情动至深，终归放下，收得自然、悲而不溺。

云的飞升

云向何处？思绪、情感、灵魂、漂泊的自己如何走出曾经，走出迷惘，找寻归宿？放下之后，我将何去何从？欲展翅高飞，下了决心挣脱束缚，飞离情执与回忆，是意识的升腾与放下。自由翱翔万里长空，无碍、无边际，辽阔。洒脱前缘旧梦 – 放下过往的爱、执念、牵挂。有意识地选择自由，没有逃避，是转身，是翻篇。情落九尘 – 完全放下，回归红尘九界，众多层层烦恼的根源，再不能烦扰我了。

芳华青山在

芳华是青春、记忆、情意、美好岁月。青山是恒、稳、超脱时光的存在。人老去、情已堪，青山长在。青春的美、爱过的人、动过的心——虽然已经不再拥有，却仍在心中，青山不移。岁月江水流 – 芳华可以是内心像青山般的长在，岁月如江水般流逝。青山江水，一恒一流逝，一静一动。诗中风、雨、云、流水归一。所有的“回忆、泪水、执念”，终究都随江水流走。

我安坐在不变的自然之中，内观、安顿，不再追、不再逃、不再恋。静观自然景象——花落、云归，万物归位，惜别而不执着的淡然境界。心已无执 – 曾经动情，如今自由，不再被牵绊。回响我眉间的风 – 眉间是最敏感的情绪出口，风, 是曾经的爱、伤、温柔、记忆……如今，它不再痛、不再纠缠，但仍在心间轻轻回响，余韵不绝。它不是恋，而是放下之后，心底那缕温柔依然在。

你没忘，你只是放了下来；你没有绝情，你只是不再抓住。情，不再是负担，是风，是轻，是无声的回响。

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published on 20.6.2025

see my English translation 👇🏻

眉间的风 The Wind Between My Brows

Wind scatters the fragrant dust – the fading scent of blossoms,
and shadows lose their way home.
They say the tears have long dried in the wind,
yet memories rise, one by one,
and slip quietly into the heart’s door.

Rain strikes the plantain leaves—
the heart, without a home.
For a moment, the rain hastens flowers to fall;
I long for the waters in spring and fragrance of flowers of the past,
all eventually return to the flowing stream.

Where do the clouds drift?
I long to spread my wings and soar,
to glide across ten thousand miles of sky,
free and at ease leaving the bonds and dreams once held,
letting love fall into the dust of the world.

Still, youth lingers in the mountains,
though time flows like the river.
I sit beneath the enduring green hills,
watching flowers fall, clouds return to their rightful rhythm.
My heart holds no more clinging—
only the echo of the wind between my brows.

---

✦ Notes on Translation Choices:

• “眉间的风” → “The wind between my brows”
  A literal yet poetic rendering, keeping the mystery and intimacy intact.
• “情落九尘” → “letting love fall into the dust of the world”
  Evokes the image of letting go, returning to earth, transcending desire.
• “我坐在青山之下” → “I sit beneath the enduring green hills”
  “Enduring” echoes the idea of “芳华青山在” — beauty that persists.

眉间的风 The Wind Between My Brows · Prose Reflection

The Wind of Memory

The wind rises, lifting the “fragrant dust” — the fading scent of blossoms, the fragments of memory, the echoes of once-was. “Shadows” appear — shadows of people, shadows of the heart, shadows of longing. There is confusion, a loss of direction, nowhere to return.

They say the tear stains have long dried in the wind — as if time had sealed the past. One thought it was forgotten, but in truth, it never left — the memories were etched deep within. The phrase “they say” reveals the undercurrent of emotional upheaval.

The tide of emotion cannot be held back.
Memories rise like waves, scene after scene resurfacing, until at last they slip into the door of the heart — emotions entering the soul again, old dreams softly knocking on the door of the spirit.

The Rain’s Attachment and Letting Go

Rain taps the plantain leaves — a sound like quiet weeping, knocking directly on the heart. The rain outside unsettles the world within; emotions lose their weight and balance, the self feels adrift in the world, without anchorage or belonging.

In a moment, the rain hastens the fall of blossoms — a natural image mirroring
the quiet unraveling of love. There remains a lingering yearning for the past beauty — the spring waters, the days of flower blooms — all that were once perfect, all that now remains unforgettable. But those once-beautiful moments flow away with the current,
returning to emptiness, to tranquility. Like “falling flowers carried by the spring stream”, when emotion runs its deepest,
it must eventually be released, gracefully, a tinge of sorrow, yet never drowning the self.

The Cloud’s Ascension

Where do the clouds go? Where do thoughts, emotions, the soul —this drifting self —find their way beyond the past, beyond confusion, toward a true home? Once all is let go without clinging, where will I go? A desire stirs — to spread wings and soar, a conscious resolve to break free from entanglement and memory. This is the rising of awareness, the act of letting go. To soar freely through the vast skies —unbounded, expansive, open. To let go of old loves, past entanglements,
dreams no longer clung to. This is not escape, but a turning — a quiet flipping of the page.

Emotion falls into the nine layers of dust —it has been completely released,
returned to the myriad veils of the mortal world that once burdened the heart. They can no longer.

The Everlasting Green Hills

芳华 — youth, memory, affection, beautiful days. The green hills — steadfast, unmoved by time. Though we age, though feelings soften and settle,
the green hills remain. The beauty of youth, the ones we loved, the heart once stirred —though we no longer have it, they remain within, as unshifting as the mountain. youth lingers in the mountains, though time flows like the river. mountains and flowing rivers — one constant, one ever-changing; one still, one in motion. In the poem, wind, rain, clouds, and flowing water all merge into one. All memories, tears, and attachments ultimately drift away with the river’s current. Now I sit beneath these mountains —not in retreat, but in stillness. I observe, reflect, no longer chasing, fleeing, or clinging. I quietly watch: flowers fall, clouds return —all things finding their place. A gentle parting, free of attachment. My heart holds no longer clings. Once I felt deeply — now, I am free. No longer tethered.

And still, echoes the wind between my brows. The brow — the most sensitive bridge of emotion. The wind — a bearer of love, of sorrow, of tenderness, of memory… Now, it no longer aches,
no longer entangles, but lingers softly in my soul —a whisper, a resonance. It is not longing. It is the warmth that remains, when all else has been set free.

You did not forget —you simply set it down. You were not emotionless —
you just stopped clinging on. Emotion is no longer a burden. It becomes wind. It becomes light. It becomes a soundless echo.