What kind of treachery can unleash upon defenseless civilians—women and children— a massacre so cruel, so inhumane?
what kind of despicable fake can be so deranged as to claim that genocide is an act of self-defense?
What kind of double standard can lie through open eyes, betray all conscience, and watch life reduced to ashes?
what kind of evil can make one bereft of all conscience, devoid of humanity, that it leaves the innocents in rivers of blood, their bodies scattered?
what kind of plague of warmongers can ignore the world’s thousand accusing fingers, spittings and scoldings, massacre cities, and let the bones of unjustly murdered souls laid waste, piled up like mountains
what kind of ignorance and prejudice can poison the heart, turn right and wrong upside down, bury kindness and righteousness, and strip away the last trace of humanity?
When disaster gives birth to a white lotus, you see not a single tear. A wound you never touched, nourishes the blossoming of snow (the white lotus), feeds the roots and stems, makes them strong.
When the wind stirs, branches sway; mess up an old dream, brushing away a past connection of fate. You never saw— the nursing (of the lotus) by the tears, the rebirth from the wounds.
A flower spirit breaking free, receiving light, and giving off light. The brilliance of new life, rises from the ashes of a past life—— a body shaped by trials, forged into steel.
You summoned the rain, to wash clean the mud of wounds. The murky water cannot obscure my name. It is I! You didn’t forget, and neither did I.
When the years put on new clothes, we recover both our old and new selves. Emerging from the long night, the spring sun waves at us. Time is smiling—— disaster, rebirth, and flourishing glory, last but only an instant.
Postscript:
The white lotus symbolizes rebirth—snow, and the blossoming of purity. From the mud of disaster and trauma, emerges an awakening born of adversity. You did not see, nor did you touch, my tears and wounds. old dreams and past bonds of fate are fading in the wind. What you didn’t see was that it was my tears nourishing, nurturing— The white lotus is the rebirth from my pain and trauma.
The flower spirit marks a transition from gentleness to resilience: not only pure and beautiful, but also empowered by suffering, it gains the strength, not just to receive light, but to give back light unto others. From white to steel—from innocence to strength.
You called forth the rain to wash my wounds clean. And you recognized my name in the mud. Time, and the long night, will eventually pass. We still remember each other— and in doing so, we recover both our old and new selves, in the same body. Rebirth and hope reside in the space of a single thought.
喀纳斯湖，北疆 Kanas Lake, north Xinjiang 10.5.2025格伦诺基三角洲，Glenorchy delta 15.2.2023
执念·空相
一粒微尘 念起时，情生 念灭处，空寂 在时空之外 坐化成一枚石子
忘川未冷 舟行间沏一壶茶 前世的牵挂 温热心中 封了一万年的雪
是谁在水镜中回首? 是你，也是我 心念的倒影，忘情的回声 水无形，镜有情 有的真容，无的万象
我把三千世 化作一缕执念 无声无相的 落在你眉间心上 有的执着，无的释放
本无永恒的世界里 存有一份放不下的心念 执念与空寂 却在诗中相遇 爱而不执，无相不灭
c.h.e.f Andy
注：
1 坐化成一枚石子 – 情已化道，主动进入寂静、无言、无求的境界
2 “忘川” 是轮回之河，也是忘却前世记忆的边界；“雪”是时间封印的情，因一壶茶被唤醒
3 有的真容，无的万象 – 有形的是你我的情念，无形的是时间流动、生命轮回、念起念灭
4 有缘的执着，无缘的释放
5 爱而不执，无相不灭 – 是曾经，亦是永恒
======================
published on 1.6.2025
see my English translation👇🏻
执念·空相 Obsession · Emptiness
A single speck of dust, When thought arises, sentience is born; When thought extinguishes, emptiness remains. Beyond time and space, It sits in meditation, becoming stone— silent, unmoved, eternal.
The River of Forgetfulness has not yet turned the memories cold. A pot of tea brews mid-voyage, longings from a former life, warm the heart once more; melting ten thousand years of snow.
Who turns to glance from within the mirror of water? It is you, it is also me. A reflection of the heart’s intent, an echo of love forgotten. Water has no shape or form; the mirror, reflects feelings from its depth. That with form shows the face of truth; that which is formless, envelopes all.
I turned three thousand lifetimes, into a single thread of obsession, soundless, formless falling lightly between your brows and onto your heart. Where there is connection there is fixation, where there is not, release.
In a world where nothing lasts, there lingers one thought that cannot be set down. Obsession and emptiness, come to meet in this poem. To love without clinging; to be formless, yet never extinguished.
Notes:
“To sit in meditation, becoming stone” — symbolizes emotion transformed into the “Way”; a conscious entry into a state of stillness, silence, and freedom from desire.
“The River of Forgetfulness” refers to the river of reincarnation and the threshold where past-life memories are left behind (“turned cold”). “Snow” symbolizes emotion sealed by time, reawakened by a single pot of tea.
What has form is the emotion connection between you and me. What is formless is the flow of time, the cycle of life and death, and the arising and cessation of thought.
Where there is connection by fate there is fixation, where there is not, release
To love without clinging; to be formless, yet never extinguished — is to know what was a part of our past, is also the eternal.
傲骨· 照大江 Unyielding Spirit · Shining on the Great River
— Five thousand years of unyielding spirit and cultured soul, where gentle winds and bright moon caress the vast river.
Heart bound to the land, soul spanning time itself; worthy minds and heroes lie beneath ancient burial sites. Born in troubled times, they sought a golden age, spoke with ease the accomplishments in life — who cares for posthumous fame?
Head beneath the stars, heaven and earth under his strides, worked the heart and body to exhaustion, black hair became white. Those who came before laboured; those who came after reaped the rewards. With flood protection and irrigation, farming and trade flourish, the nation thrives, the people grow strong.
Faces etched with wind and frost, bodies bearing the weight of years, spears broken and buried in sand, generations rise anew. Dignity lives on the edge of the sword; truth speaks from the gun barrel. Before the mighty, no fear, no retreat, the only effect like gentle winds brushing against a mountain ridge.
Left hand on zither, right hand wields the blade, unyielding spirit and a cultured heart through five thousand years. We do not strike first, but will repel any strikes. Let tyrants be tyrants — the only effect like the bright moon shining upon the great river.
Note:
In May 2025, I joined a friend couple and his group of friends total 11 pax on a journey through Northern Xinjiang, where we had the privilege of witnessing the vast and majestic landscapes of China.
The poem references a line from Xin Qiji’s “Po Zhen Zi – A Heroic Verse for Chen Tongfu”:
“To accomplish the Emperor’s great cause, and earn a name in life and after death.”
At Dujiangyan, we beheld a millennia-old hydraulic project that has benefited generations—a testament to China’s enduring efforts in flood control, disaster relief, and water management across its long and turbulent history.
The Dujiangyan Irrigation System was first constructed around 256 BCE and has a history of more than 2,300 years.
The final stanzas allude to the trade war initiated by the United States, and the unwarranted pressures and underhanded actions imposed across various domains—unjustified and unprovoked.
“Broken spears lie buried in the sand” — taken from the Tang dynasty poet Du Mu’s “Red Cliffs”:
“Broken spears lie buried in the sand, their iron not yet corroded; I wash and polish them, recognizing relics of a bygone era.”
It symbolizes rising again after a crushing defeat.
Applied a variation of the quote – “Dignity lies only at the edge of the sword, and truth only within the range of cannon fire.” — Carl von Clausewitz.
It also quotes the incantation of the Nine Yang Manual from Jin Yong’s The Heaven Sword and Dragon Saber:
“So what if he is strong—the only effect like the breeze brushing the mountain. So what if he is fierce—the only effect like the moon shining over the great river.
劫数 · 大难重生 Disaster · Surviving the Ordeal — 2019, Lion’s Head, Cape Town, South Africa
November 21, 2019 — A day I can never forget. Hiking Lion’s Head with family, in Cape Town, 450 meters elevation gain, 1.5hours to the summit.
Descending—just a short way down, and suddenly— Bang! Bang! Bang! Gone… gone…
Heart-stopping—my body tumbled off a shallow cliff, 1.5 meters, 1.5 meters, 3 meters!
The sky— rolling… rolling… rolling… on a rocky slope, barren, almost without a blade of grass. Stop… stop… stop! Thank God—just stop short of a steep cliff!
I kept screaming— my mind forcing arms and legs to move. Not from pain, but from terror. Where was I hurt? I didn’t know… Would I die? Be paralyzed?
A pair of young rock climbers rushed to my side. My eldest daughter, a doctor, couldn’t get down the cliff to me— the male climber helped her down to my side, and she stayed close, administering care.
My right wrist bent like an “L”, thankfully—not an open fracture. She checked my eyes, neck, chest, breathing, legs and hands, and fingertips—for blood flow. We prayed together: no critical injury.
Too risky to move me with unclear injuries. The official rescue team was called— two hours later, only two “rescuers” arrived. They radioed the helicopter. Even I could tell: it wasn’t coming.
They summoned a volunteer rescue team. This time, ten professional rock climbers arrived—men and women, swift and decisive. Steel anchors driven into rock, pulleys rigged— I was strapped to a stretcher and slowly lifted.
Eight carried me, others rotated in. The trail was rugged; a sheer cliff ahead. Anchors and pulleys had to be secured at the new location. Five and a half hours after the fall, we finally reached the trailhead parking lot.
An ambulance was waiting— in thirty minutes I arrived at Christiaan Barnard Private Hospital. Two ribs, and left wrist, with mild cracks, a shattered right wrist requiring surgery and titanium implants. No injury to the head, neck, spinal cord, or legs — incredibly lucky.
2 days later, I was flown back to Singapore for emergency surgery.
Surgery and recovery— my wife arranged it all, cared for every detail. Back to the clinic to remove the cast and stitches, old friends from primary and secondary school took turns fetching me. Heaven had spared me—I had survived disaster.
Later, I sat down with each daughter over coffee, reliving it all. Witnessing the fall, they both had thought then I was gone…
But there I was, across the table, hands wrapped around a coffee cup, listening to my own breath. Life is fragile. Life is fleeting. To be alive is never a given— every day is a grace from Heaven, received with a quiet heart, and deep gratitude.
P.S.
In 2019, my wife, eldest daughter, youngest daughter, and I went on a safari at Sabi Sands in South Africa, then traveled by car through South African winery estates to Cape Town, where the cliff-fall accident at Lion’s Head occurred.
—In Mongolian: “The Place Where There Is Sunlight”
That year, we marched through days and nights of blizzards. Hunger, exhaustion, bitter cold— we couldn’t see a few feet ahead, our hands and feet numb— we couldn’t tell day from night, couldn’t find direction, couldn’t tell… if there would be a tomorrow.
Nalati… Nalati… A faint, intermittent call echoed from the distance, slowly seeping into consciousness. And then appeared before us— endless grasslands, murmuring streams. The clouds parted. The sun rose. Could it be true— a place where there is sunlight?
Back then, you galloped across the sky-high plains— light, radiant, full of grace, playing among lush grasses and herds of cattle and sheep, telling stories of sunshine, pollen, and honey. In the distance, snow mountains stood tall, veiled in clouds and fog; and we were entranced by clouds atop peaks, flower-hidden trails, the wind at the pass— those carefree days.
Now, I cling to that summer we once saw together. You are always there – a steady stream, I am a horse riding past. We met when the flowers bloomed, and parted when the honey’s full. You brewed a year of honey, waiting for a lost herdsman to cross even more mountain passes. A brief encounter— a miss of a lifetime.
P.S.
1. According to legend, during Genghis Khan’s westward expedition, his army crossed snow-covered mountains and endured long treks through blizzards, exhausted in both body and spirit. When they finally reached the Ili River Valley and saw the grasslands, it was at the very moment of sunrise—sunlight breaking through the clouds and shining upon the plain. They named the place “Nalati,” meaning “the place where there is sunlight,” as a symbol of hope and rebirth.
2. The story of the wandering shepherd and the awaiting beekeeper.
You, lie silently between mountains and pine forests, like a silent mirror, reflecting the moods of the sky— at times, clear vast sky, at times, stormy and ever-changing.
You, possess infinite containment and inclusiveness. Even when the skies rage, with storms, fierce winds, and thunder, you will just respond gently, accompanying the wind with ripples.
In the distance, snow melts quietly, ushering in the first breath of spring. past the mountains and with turns of the winding river, the meltwater rushes on, passing rocky shoals and forest gaps, greening the lakeside and grassy shores, and at last, falls into your embrace.
Kanas Lake, “Beautiful and mysterious.” With your tranquil hues of blue and green, you welcome the wonder and praise, and see off the visitors in bliss with their beautiful memories— to be treasured as lasting yearnings.
——Yet no one can carry away your secrets.
They say you magically change color, shifting from blue to green. They say a lake monster hides in your depths. Upstream, a crouching dragon guards the Wolong Bay, the moon and fairies visit the Moon Bay, and Fairy Bay. And you— you quietly count the stars, watching life as it breathes and rests, and its incarnations
P.S.
“Kanas” Lake in Mongolian language, means “beautiful, rich, and mysterious.”
Upstream from Kanas Lake are scenic spots such as Wolong Bay, Moon Bay, and Fairy Bay.
City of Devils, a mysterious incarnation. The sediment of millennia of wind and weather, the transformation of ten thousand years of geology. Jagged rocks, a forest of yadan(雅丹）— a heavenly miracle carved by ghostly hands, a sculpture shaped by nature itself.
The desert lies vast, desolate, and cold. yadan(雅丹）in countless forms— like ancient castles, cruise ships, figures, birds, and beasts. Wind-carved pillars, narrating the stories of time etched in rings, until a sudden gale rises— sand flies, stones roll, the sky grows dim. Wind howls through rocky crevices, emitting eerie, whistling cries…
“Shayitankolsi”, the place where demons roam. Dark winds rise in moonless night, shadows flicker and blur. Spectral figures dance in seductive spirals. Strange trembling sounds drift through the air— like a moan, like a weep, like a dream, like a ghost…
Wandering through the Devil’s City by night, a spirit of adventure stirs within. Gazing across the boundless starry sky, the vastness of the Milky Way, as if I’ve stepped into— Seven Swords Descend from Tianshan, Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. Grievances avenged, passion set free, the tender sentiments beneath a hero’s chivalrous bones— a thousand scenes arise, beneath the drifting desert sands…
P.S.
“Shaytanklsi” means the place where the devil lives in Kazakh language.
Keketuohai, UNESCO Global Geopark, “The Green Jungle.” The scenery changes with the seasons, Gem Valley blooms in splendor, the birch forest turns a blanket of yellow as autumn arrives. North Xinjiang unfurls like a painting, the long river flows into the gorge.
Clouds cannot conceal the cliffs, water cannot wash away the precipices. The Irytsh Grand Canyon, majestic, rugged, yet elegant and perilous. Shaped by years of river erosion, a natural scar of beauty is etched between the steep rocks and cliffs.
A lone peak stands proudly, with feelings alas finite; the mountain range extend endlessly, peak upon peak, with infinite connections. With the slow passing of time, strangely formed peaks and bizarre-shaped rocks, with freeze-thaw weathering— Divine Bell Mountain, Small Bell Mountain, Elephant Trunk Peak, Kalazhuole Waterfall. The river rushes through the canyon, heading towards the Arctic Ocean.
“The Shepherd of Keketuohai,” a timeless love song. The shepherd and the beekeeper, unstable livelihood and helplessness against fate unable to smother their deep affection. The song is rich and pure, stirring the heart, resonating in the soul, reaching deep into the spirit, climbing to the heights of the soul.
Lightning, the driving force of self-reliance, pioneering a new homeland. The tireless toil of our forefathers have brought sixty years of prosperity and flourish, peace and security for the nation and people.
A tiny nation, yet its purchasing power parity per capita (PPP) has astonishingly reached Number One in the world. On the international stage, it has punched above its own weight to earn its place — the People’s Action Party deserves much credit.
Decades of one-party dominance, using the Group Representation Constituency(GRC) system, to parachute candidates into Parliament. The zeal and passion have thinned, the ideals of good governance and integrity have blurred, and the original heart for public service has been lost.
In the thick of global inflation, government went ahead to increase Goods and Services Tax(GST). Professionals, managers, executives, technicians face competitive pressure from foreign talent. Millionaires and new citizens drive up housing prices, and public housing soars with the market.
In the midst of the U.S. unilateral tariff wars, and tense and turbulent international trade, the ruling party seizes the moment to call an election. Voters are forced into making a difficult decision at this critical time—- wanting the ruling party to steer the ship, and also wanting opposition voice in Parliament.
The hammer, shouldering heavy burdens without complaint, braving countless obstacles in unfairness, bring forth a blue sky. The Workers’ Party, high in fighting spirit, speaks for the people, answering the calls for justice and fairness.
Voters are wise, pragmatically safeguarding their enlightened self-interests. Opposition parties that cannot gain traction are dropped by the wayside. The Workers’ Party gains two Non-Constituency Member seats, the People’s Action Party sees a rise in overall votes, and narrowly preserves the Deputy Prime Minister’s GRC seats.
Post the cleansing of the general election, the ruling party should reflect, conduct deep reviews, listen to public voices, integrate feedback from all quarters. Prevent policy making by elites out of touch with the ground, avoid gerrymandering electoral boundaries, and stop the muffling of civic groups.
People’s vote — a general election once every five years, a fleeting snapshot, can it truly appreciate five years of people’s livelihoods? People’s vote may be given; but are people’s hearts won?
As the election curtain falls, people’s votes have sounded, the people’s hearts are silent, can those in power hear them?
P.S.
In terms of GDP per capita using Purchasing Power Parity (PPP), Singapore is consistently ranked among the wealthiest nations globally. In 2023, it was ranked 2nd with a PPP GDP per capita of $141,553, according to Uniwide, and 1st in 2025, with a PPP GDP per capita of $156,755, according to the IMF.
Here’s a more detailed breakdown:
2023:Singapore ranked 2nd in the world for GDP per capita (PPP), with a value of $141,553.
2025:The IMF projects Singapore to have the highest GDP per capita (PPP) in the world, at $156,755.
The winds of May revisit the 汨罗江 Miluo River, blowing past millennia of culture and dynasties, calling forth the yearning for home and country. Remembering the sages of the past, “suffer nine deaths with no regret”, the steadfastness of love for the nation
The poet’s pen narrates the story of shattered mountains and rivers, the unyielding original intent, the starting ideals, the pure and sober (awakened convictions) and resolute self-discipline. Leaving behind the spirit of poetry, river, and indestructible bones of patriotism, to comfort the world for the loss
The fragrance of dumpling leaves wrapping weaves together warmth and love; layer upon layer behold the love for country. Generations gathered around one table, making and eating dumplings, relish old stories, sharing food and love; ensure the passing on of festival culture and love through the ages
The cry of 离骚 is the call of history. The racing team pull in unison, the sound of drums reverberate. The dragon boat cuts through the water, lifting up wave droplets that splash across the millennia. The soul of poetry stands erect between heaven and earth; its spirit will endure, exuding fragrance through the ages
P.S.
屈原 Qu Yuan Qu Yuan was a patriotic poet of the State of Chu during the Warring States period. After witnessing the fall of his nation and the shattering of his ideals, he threw himself into the Miluo River, sacrificing his life for his country.
离骚 Li Sao (The Lament) – Qu Yuan’s 3730 word, longest political lyric poem in ancient China
Quotes- “Even if I were to die nine times over, I would not regret the pursuits of my heart.” “Though the whole world is muddy, I alone remain pure; though all others are drunk, I alone stay sober.”
Qing Ming Traditions Families go out together, visiting graves and honoring ancestors, Remembering those who have passed, Sorting through the sorrows of farewell. A moment of solitary reflection Is also the pillar of family reunion.
Qing Ming Customs Lighting incense, burning paper offerings— Acts of respect, and also of care and gratitude. One life journey draws to a close, Another begins, growing and flourishing— The passing down and continuity of life and love.
The Season of Qing Ming Fresh air, clear skies, and grass newly green. Springtime excursions Open the spirit to the breath of life. A passing shower Caresses the damp earth.
Spring in Full Bloom All things are nurtured and grow, all forms renewed. In rhythm with nature’s pulse, There is an inner release— The joy of sensing, The quiet flow of the heart’s intent.
Spring Breeze, Softly Smiling The breeze stirs the clouds; flowers bloom in silence. All unfolds quietly, Yet in a moment, unaware— Merges into nature’s embrace. It is a truth beyond words: A resonance of the soul.
The wind rises Lifting up the wavy hair, Dispersing thoughts and memories, Yet unable to blow away The longing, born of kinship.
The rain falls Blurring generations of footprints, Messing up paths and directions, Yet failing to conceal The cherished memories of days gone by.
In Childhood days Parents shielded me from wind and rain, Siblings guarded and loved me. Though the family was poor and living spaces small, and clothes and meals were plain, we lived the simple joy of a happy family.
That year I left home at eighteen to pursue my studies overseas Who could have known the parting was also the last farewell? my heart thus harboured this deep sorrow of having loved ones already departed when I have the wherewithals to care for them
Remembrance Overflowing with tender memories of the past, From inside and outside the urn, two worlds gaze upon each other. Qing Ming worship Summons a sigh—of reunion after long separation.
The letter from home Silently treasured through the passage of time, Its ink now faded, Yet it cannot erase your parting words. This belated reunion Feels like waking from a dream, retracing the steps once walked by those now departed.
There is no such thing as a Free Lunch — avoid being scammed
as people age an unexplained sense of fear creeps in afraid of falling when walking or running, worried about accidents when driving constantly fearing missteps
things once taken lightly in youth now cause hesitation, even anxiety
all one wants is a peaceful old age no shocks no turmoil no desire to leave the comfort zone
life has many facets and dimensions one may be successful and confident in one area yet stepping out of the comfort zone can cause one to tremble in fear a single mistake can shatter one’s confidence
having braved more than a few stormy seas and sailed through safely and steadily successes and failures belong to the past the days of struggle left far behind
let not the calm waters be disturbed confidence and self-esteem suffering a severe blow can lead to sudden loss of control and loss of judgment adrift and directionless without ruddle
having toiled a lifetime one should enjoy a peaceful old age there’s no need to chase wealth and glory just hold on tight and don’t lose one’s life’s savings
there is no reward without effort there is no such thing as a free lunch only through hard work can we realise our dreams
Bakuteh a sensation across Southeast Asia a household name a Singaporean delicacy, bearer of emotive connections far beyond
rich and savoury a broth infused with the fragrance of white pepper prime pork ribs, perfectly balanced in lean and fat tender yet firm, indulgent yet not greasy a burst of umami lingers on the palate
a bond of love tied to taste experience steeped in blood and tears in the early days, immigrants, to earn a livelihood young and old alike toiled as dock labourers – “coolies” a daily struggle, just to earn a meal
pork bones, simmered into broth affordable, convenient, fill the stomach, restore the strength only then could they endure the scorching sun, the crushing loads the searing heat, sweat soaking the backs the days of backbreaking labor where even the face of youth is lined with wrinkles of time
traditional taste slowly brewed to aromatic perfection, with lingering sweetness best paired with 油条 crispy dough fritters soak in the broth, absorb its richness a bite unleashes a burst of flavour followed with a sip of 功夫茶 a taste of heaven, a life fulfilled
waking early for a brisk walk in the neighbourhood the dawn is quiet, bathed in soft glow the morning hue edges the border of the clouds and slowly dyes them in gold as the rising sun peeks over the horizon, golden rays lit up the treetops bringing forth energy for a new day
neighbours wake one after another rising, washing up, and having breakfast busy and ready for daily routines sending children to school, heading to work, buying groceries cars and pedestrians begin flowing like a river another day unfolds in bustling rhythm
the city’s pulse beats with steady rhythm society, like a mighty beast, thrive and move ceaselessly as a macro organism
each person a part of this vast body follows the rhythm of life rushing about along his own orbit
clogs and wheels engage turn in seamless coordination yet each person holds a space of his own a happiness that belongs to oneself that blooms quietly amidst a busy day
when you are old will your loved one still be by your side walking in lock-step through the twilight years?
when you feel lonely will your old pals still be there chatting and reminiscing the past?
when you are weary will you find a shelter of quietude of your own to heal and restore?
when you fall ill will your family and loved ones stay by your side and take care of you?
when you are aged and frail will the world slow down for you so you can keep up?
sipping wine, enamored with the dusk; the evening glow intoxicates your gaze autumn chills, the world grows silent, silver hair creeps upon my head youth fades like falling petals, like water flowing past, never to meet again years grow old in dreams, autumn deepens into the night the past lingers vividly, while all fades gently with death
南怡岛枫林 Nami Island maple forest 1.11.2024南怡岛滑索 Nami Island zip line 1.11.2024南怡岛银杏落叶 Nami Island gingko leaves 1.11.2024南怡岛银杏林 Nami Island gingko forest 1.11.2024南怡岛鸵鸟村 Nami Island ostrich sanctuary 1.11.2024
南怡岛之秋
南怡岛 远眺 秋天落叶，秋意盈漫 枫叶 火焰飘曳点燃了树梢 随着时间的脚步 铺满遍地残红
空滑索 仰望 一线流星，划破蓝空 凌驾 天神之威势临空而降 89米高塔940米地 跨空飞越岛河
银杏树 近观 迎风轻舞，摇首弄姿 杏叶 数千黄折扇挥之潇洒 顺着入秋的步伐 撒满落地黄金
游池塘 环视 水鸭列阵，鲤鱼戏水 鸵鸟 鹤立园中鉴日月时空 伴着镜月的时针 追溯昔日芳华
c.h.e.f andy
====================
published on 1.3.2025
see my English translation 👇
南怡岛之秋 Autumn on Nami Island
Nami Island gazing into the distance leaves falling, the mood of autumn brimming and spreading maple leaves like flickering flames, they ignite the treetops with the passage of time they cover the ground in a tapestry of the crimson past
the Zip Line looking up a shooting star streaks, slicing through the blue sky soaring with the might of a deity descending from above from an 89-meter tower, across 940 meters flying over the islands and river
ginkgo trees up close dancing gently in the wind, swaying with grace ginkgo leaves thousands of yellow fans fluttering elegantly following the footsteps of autumn scattering golden hue across the ground
viewing the pond looking around ducks in formation, carps playing in the water ostriches standing tall in the garden, witnessing the passage of sun, moon, time and space accompanied by the illusory hour hand of the moon in the mirror retracing the transient beauty of youth
Korankei maple leaves fan the hills in fiery red a lone ginkgo by the side of the stream is shrouded in gold stroll through the autumn forest, and bath in the colors of fall
Taigetsu Bridge clear waters of Tomoe River play out nature’s music maple canopy over taigetsu bridge and the flowing stream spread out coolness walk the maple tunnel, and step softly on the red carpet
Goshiki Maple (5 colour maple) maple leaves sway in the gentle breeze like five-coloured clouds green, red, orange, yellow, lush greenery offering the shade a dazzling tapestry, the mountain and river woven into an art piece
Mt. Iimori crimson clouds colour half the sky the mountain is ablazed with autumn’s embrace take a step, climb higher, the air is crisp and refreshing
leaning by Tomoe Bridge in drunken stupor, the lanterns lit up a scarlet dream a thousand lights enchant the maple moonlit night golden gleam on both shores of Tomoe, a breathtaking, ethereal sight
c.h.e.f 