Since when had the world lost its pure white? People’s outlines blurred at the edges, lines twisted from straight to bent, neon lights overlapped into double images, and the mortal world lay shrouded in yellow sands. 🕸️
Over time, it became habitual, colored notions seeped into consciousness. Sand in the eyes, narratives veil what we see and hear， layer upon layer, truth was veiled from sight.
Clouds drift across the vast sky, the evening glow persists, the sun sets in the west, and dusk returns again. Mountains gray with age, trees grown old, flowers drifting on flowing water, stars dance slowly, the sun and moon revolve. True and false, real and unreal, yet human life remains rich and full of color.
In this distorted post-truth world, facts are rewritten again and again, becoming the new normal.
As long as you are willing to swap in the lens of conscience, the world returns to pristine white—unchanged by how we see it.
Notes
Recently, I had cataract surgery. The world before my eyes became brilliantly clear—contours, lines, numbers, and lights all sharp, with no double images; before, the world seemed shrouded in yellow sand.
“Red lights” symbolize the glittering, decadent urban life, also echoing “the mortal world.”
The second stanza reflects the pre-surgery vision, symbolizing how truths and falsehoods in the world can obscure reality.
The third stanza emphasizes that nature and human life remain vibrant and colorful; even if people distort reality, the true nature persists.
The final stanza uses the post-surgery restored vision of pure white as a metaphor: by “replacing with a lens of conscience,” one can return to perceiving the immutable, pristine true nature, unaffected by truths or falsehoods.
A blink, a flicker of vision— eyes adjusting; suddenly, the world turns snow-bright and clear. Contours, lines, numbers, like delicate carvings, all enter the eye.
The view opens, renewed and lucid. For a moment— fruits and blossoms stir in a gentle breeze, birds busily nest in the trees, insects and butterflies among the flowers— lifting a new awareness.
A miracle of modern medicine; a brief procedure, half an hour of light sleep, an artificial lens set in place— in an instant, the heart lightly brushes the world. Like a newborn child, peering into life’s mystery.
As if in another lifetime, unaware— former sight was veiled by a pale yellow curtain, blurring images, light and shadow merging into double vision. So it is with consciousness, until clarity returns.
Notes:
Light Returns The light has always been there; it was merely obscured. Now it “returns to its proper place.”
复视 = Double Vision The word “复视” carries three layers of meaning in the poem:
Consciousness level: old experiences overlapping with reality; habits coexisting with truth; thinking one sees clearly, when in fact perception is still unclear
The sun peeping through the clouds, the vast, azure skies, the boundless earth.
Majestic seas and mountains, resplendent rivers and lakes, mysterious forests and hidden valleys.
Brocade of rainbows, mesmerising evening glow, longing for the setting sun
You grant me a lifetime of seeing, knowing, and insight.
life-giving light， the nourishing rain, growth and decay, the turning of day and night, the cycle of seasons.
The movements of sun, moon, and stars, the life of all things in nature, the myriad forms of the universe, the encounters and destinies of life, the heart’s whispers and dreams in the night sky.
Without you, I cannot see——
The vast heavens, the sun’s brilliance and moon’s gentle glow, the everchanging, ever-shifting clouds and winds, flowers poised to bloom, birds soaring free, the love of family, the warmth of life.
My world would be—— pitch-dark, dim and shadowed, heavy with stillness.
Now, you have given all, your last threads spent, your tears run dry, it is time for rest and renewal.
Fortunately, a new lens is all that is needed, for the world to shine through once more, and you will continue to be with me for the rest of my life——
my eyes.
Literary Note:
Drawing on Tang dynasty poet Li Shangyin’s lines, “The spring silkworm spins silk until death; the candle burns to ash before its tears run dry,” this evokes the gradual exhaustion of countless threads, the draining of inner strength, a lifetime of seeing, long years of labor, quiet dedication, until the calling is fulfilled, and at last comes the moment of rest and renewal.
Mountains and waters upon mountains and waters, easy, free-spirited, at leisure, drifting in effortless ease.
The heart mirrors sun and moon, clouds thin, winds gentle; as poetic feeling flows freely, the spirit roams the cosmos.
Buoyant in the mortal world, a boat passes lightly; where peaks turn and rivers bend, a new world quietly unfolds.
With grace, connections arise, relax, letting the path of truth show. As the tide of thought settles, everything is complete and clear.
Spiraling galaxies, years flowing by; In a flicker of sudden insight, permanence and stillness.
Beginnings and endings, comings and goings, clear, plain, and quietly serene.
Notes:
1. Inspiration
Yesterday a friend messaged me, mentioning his fondness for 李清照‘s《声慢慢》. Later, I watched the video by “致远书香” on 《声慢慢》, and a wave of poetic feeling stirred within me, inspiring this short poem.
2. Graceful in the Mortal World
“Graceful in the mortal world” — a metaphor for moving lightly through worldly life, letting go, passing gently, and perceiving new realms of insight. To release, to ease, to flow delicately — this is how one senses and realizes a higher state of being.
3. Inner completeness and clarity
“盈盈清清” evokes a sense of inner fullness, completeness, and clear purity.
4 Cosmic Flow and Sudden Insight
Spiraling galaxies, flowing years, a flicker of sudden insight, permanence and stillness — crossing time and space, experiencing the momentary flash of awakening that connects with eternity, a sense of lasting calm and quiet.
Ginkgo fans the wind, a thousand branches dance; A sudden breeze, lifts golden wings in flutter, brushing the earth like a painted scroll— autumn deepens.
Returning in scarlet dreams to the maple-filled forest; when intoxication fades, crimson leaves quiver in the eye’s reflections, drunken on the verses— recalling lingering red.
Wild geese fly south, gazing homeward; half the sky drifts with clouds, yet clouds cannot still the heart’s restless thoughts, day and night the path back home— a heart longs to return.
Youth and beauty bid farewell to autumn as winter nears; after the wind has stilled, fallen leaves speak no word of coming or going, old dreams drift with the wind, even as they return in echoes.
Notes:
1｜First Section｜Visual Beauty: Autumn Unfolding
“Fans the wind”: The ginkgo leaves resemble small fans. The personification is natural, capturing both form and the rhythm of the wind.
“A thousand branches dance / golden wings flutter”: Full of motion, the imagery is brilliant yet restrained, preserving the crisp clarity of autumn.
“brushing the earth like a painted scroll”: The landing point is exquisite, grounding the ephemeral beauty of the sky onto the earth.
This section is not merely observing autumn, but autumn actively unfolding itself.
2｜Second Section｜Dream and Intoxication: From Scene to Heart
“Returning in scarlet dreams”: In the dream, one looks back and recalls the autumn colours ie beauty of the past.
“as intoxication fades, crimson leaves quiver in the eye’s reflections: Though awake, the residue of intoxication remains; the old dream persists, and the colors of the maple forest are still mirrored in the eyes.
This section completes the transition from external beauty → internal memory.
3｜Third Section｜Homesickness: The Weight of Emotion
Wild geese: Southbound migratory birds, in autumn season, symbolizing both homesickness and the journey home.
“yet clouds cannot still the heart’s restless thoughts, day and night”: Even half a sky of drifting clouds cannot shield the heart from the ceaseless, tangled thoughts of homesickness.
This section extends the “old dream” from personal memory to a shared human emotional experience.
4｜Fourth Section｜Letting Go and Returning
“Blossoms of the past” (芳菲): Refers to moments of past flourishing—whether in emotion, life, or worldly prosperity.
“Not speaking of coming or going”: This is not ignorance of what comes or goes, but non-attachment; one sees events unfold without questioning or clinging to outcomes.
“even as they return in echoes” (几回重): This does not deny the recurrence of emotion, but acknowledges it—memories return, old dreams revisit; neither resisting nor indulging, this reflects a wisdom attuned to the realities of life.
In this section, there is no moralizing, no conclusion, only an attitude: See, accept, move with the wind, and follow fate with ease.
The moon waxes and wanes, and yet it speaks, the years pass and return, silently.
The moon rises and sets again, clear skies, then clouds obscure, its brilliance, in time, meets eclipse, time morphs into flowing years.
The vast skies stand eternal, the heart glows with the bright moon. United, we forge a flourishing age, year after year, we safeguard the luminous moon.
The tide rises and falls, indifferent, the flowers bloom and wither, yet full of feeling.
The tide swells and then subsides, it surges forth, and then retreats. Waves roll in endless layers, until the tide rests, lapping the shore.
The tide comes, flooding my thoughts, the tide goes, leaving no trace. Waves sift the sand again and again, each generation rises anew.
Note 1: After reading the Song dynasty poetess 李清照的《残花》- Li Qingzhao’s “Fallen Flowers” —
“Flowers bloom, flowers fall, flowers have no regrets; Fate comes, fate goes, fate flows like water.”
Inspired, I wrote a little poem.
Note 2: 李清照 (March 13, 1084 – 1155), styled易安居士, the cultured lay scholar of Yi’an（literary pseudonym that reflects refined scholarship, spiritual cultivation, and genteel detachment), was from Qizhou, Zhangqiu (northwest of present-day Zhangqiu, Jinan, Shandong), and lived in Jinan. A Song dynasty poetess and representative of the 婉约派 (delicate and restrained style), she is celebrated as “the greatest talented woman of all time.”
Note 3:
“屡屡” → repeatedly, over and over
“浪淘沙” → waves sift the sand; a natural force that screens and cleanses
Imagery: The tides surge continuously, washing and purifying everything in their path.
Metaphor: The passage of time, the cycles of history, and the trials and choices of life — like a constant reshuffling of cards, starting each time with a fresh new deck.
“新人立” → new generations rise, taking their place after the previous ones
Imagery: After being sifted and tested, new forces stand firm and unshakable.
Metaphor: The succession and renewal of history and human life.
Fireworks vanish in a flash, blossoms soon drift away. Youth dissipates like falling flowers. flowing waters never meet again.
Mindful diet, careful steps, sickness wanes, longevity grows. Life cherishes richness of color, not the mere lengthening of years.
Clarity of heart, cultivating grace; mellow emotions, few desires. An orchid heart, still as a quiet pool; a lucid mind, timeless as mountains and rivers.
Deep, restful sleep, healing quietly unfolds. Zhuang Zi dreams he is a butterfly; Sweet dreams linger, dawn comes unnoticed.
Wandering the ten directions, one mind eases into emptiness. Past and present arise from here; from the world’s edge, we return to this moment.
Living simply, at ease with fate, finding joy in the ordinary. Kindred souls share long intoxication; knees drawn close, we wake to heart-to-heart talk.
Warm meals, simple comforts; Care in every word and gesture. After all, what is love— Between loving and being loved.
Note 1: In the morning, a friend shared a health-and-wellness post in their social media feed about “the true luxuries in life.”After seeing it, I wrote this little poem. 🙏😃
Note 2:
“兰心如止水”
兰 (lán) → orchid, a flower long associated in Chinese culture with purity, grace, elegance, and noble character
心 (xīn) → heart, mind, or inner spirit
So 兰心 literally = “orchid heart,”metaphorically.
Figurative / poetic meaning – refined, gentle, and virtuous inner nature. Elegance, serenity, and purity of character. Often used in classical poetry to describe someone’s spiritual or moral beauty rather than physical beauty.
“Zhuang Zhou dreams the butterfly”
From 《庄子·齐物论》: “Zhuang Zhou dreamed he was a butterfly.”
It symbolizes the blurring of reality and illusion, the inseparability of self and world, and represents dreams, emptiness, and spiritual freedom.
“Sweet dreams linger, dawn comes unnoticed.”
Adapted from the 五言绝句《春晓》 by the Tang poet 孟浩然 -“春眠不觉晓”。
The two words “dream fragrance” (梦香) evoke sensory pleasure, comfort, and immersion; the idea is sleeping so soundly that one forgets the morning has arrived.
苏格兰格伦科 Skyfall road, Glen Etiv, Glencoe, Scotland 28.7.2025长湖、海景，斯凯岛 Loch Long and sea from Flodigarry Pods, Iske of Skye 3.8.2025斯凯岛朗格湖 Loch Langaig, Isle of Skye 3.8.2025
Peaks layer upon peaks, stretching far toward Penglai 蓬莱 (utopia), Rolling grasslands, a mountain path fades into the mist. Youth lingers upon green hills, while time drifts past like floating clouds. Dreams are woven in the bloom of today— Who still clings to beauty long gone?
A gentle blue sky, where time strolls forward from bygone ages, clouds drift gently, where civilisation and culture flow through generations. Noble spirit echoes through all eternity, while fleeting fame chases the autumn wind. With AI and innovation shaping a new dawn, civilisation did not grow old in vain.
Azure lakes hold the vastness of time and all worldly phenomena, endless flowing waters carry with them the rise and fall of five thousand years. Hand in hand, we open a new world, a single drop becomes a mighty river. The legacy of ten thousand generations begins with youth; white hair arrives with no regrets.
Notes on translation choices:
“无谓江山老” → translated as “civilisation did not grow old in vain” to both acknowledge past glories and struggles, and welcome the new dawn.
“蓬莱” retains mythical flavor as “Penglai”, evoking an utopia or fairyland.
“不妄暮成雪” → translated as “white hair arrives with no regrets”, a life fully lived, evokes an honoured, meaningful, earned transition from youth to age.
“芳菲筑梦醉今朝” → translated as “Dreams are woven in the bloom of today”, keeping its lyrical tone.
一念九尘 · 散文篇 A Thought, Ninefold Dust · Prose Reflections
A century-old vintage—a distillation of time and richness, a quiet reflection steeped in deep emotion, culture, and the wisdom gathered across a life’s journey. And yet, even the finest wine cannot bridge a thousand-year time gap— the missed connections between souls and fate, the dislocations of time, emotion, and memory. No matter how profound the feeling, how fragrant the brew, it cannot transcend the vast arc of samsara—the endless cycle of rebirth—nor retrieve the memories long lost within it.
Love can only remain sealed within the ninefold dust of the mortal world.
Emotion is sealed within the ninefold dust of the mortal world. (In Chinese numerology and cosmology), “nine” marks the limit of numbers; dust, the realm of the mundane. To bury a longing in ninefold dust is to hide it deep across nine realms, nine heavens—where fate is spun by karma.
“Evening glow” and the “heart lamp” are the afterglow of love and the persistence of devotion. The twilight between the brows is a tender gleam; the lamp within the heart still flickers faintly—it is faith, memory, and unwavering longing. Even after lifetimes and cycles of rebirth, that thread of light and hope still remains.
“Ten directions”—a Buddhist term—refers to all of space: east, west, north, south, above, below, and the intermediary realms. To “dream across the ten directions” is to pursue a longing across all time and worlds. Who is it, wandering through dreams across the cosmos, seeking an unfulfilled bond, an unfinished dream— walking the path of destiny in pursuit, for a thousand years?
The warm scent of tea drifts through three thousand lifetimes. Tea – is the essence of time – refined. Its fragrance—emotion, thought, longing—lingers in the folds of space and time, gentle and elusive. It echoes through the wheel of rebirth, never fading. In the vastness of all time, it reflects the persistence of feeling. There remains a single thread of longing that never goes away. And yet, even longing cannot bring back a missed connection.
From a single thought, sentience arises—a thousand trials cannot ferry it beyond the fate of mortal dust. Sentient beings, emotion arises by a single thought, planting the seeds of suffering. They fall into birth, aging, sickness, and death—trapped within the wheel of three thousand worlds. Enduring countless lifetimes, yet still unable to transcend the karmic bonds of cause and effect. Fate and connections arise and fade, like dream, like wind—empty, ethereal, and in the end, return to nothingness.
In countless backward glances, we wait in vain for history to turn back. What is missed—is truly gone, no matter how longingly one looks back. Each glance is the tug of attachment across many lifetimes. It’s as if one wanders alone through the three thousand realms, enduring a hundred lifetimes of emotional trials, looking back again and again—just to await a destined reunion. But in the end, the past cannot be summoned. History does not turn back for any longing, nor for anyone.
一念九尘 One Thought, Ninefold Dust三姐妹, 格蘭科, 苏格兰 The Three Sisters, Glencoe, Scotland 29.7.2025
一念九尘
百年美酿， 解不了千年时差； 唤不回， 轮回深处的旧忆， 情封九尘。
眉间晚霞，心灯微光， 谁在梦回十方？ 命途走过 千载的寻梦， 浪迹天涯。
温香茶韵， 飘曳三千世。 一缕执念， 招不来 错落的缘分。
一念情生， 千劫难度尘缘。 缘起如风，缘灭如梦， 万千回眸， 盼不来历史转身。
c.h.e.f andy
=========================
published on 22.7.2025
see my English translation 👇🏻
一念九尘 One Thought, Ninefold Dust
A century-old brew cannot ease a thousand-year jet-lag; it cannot summon back the old memories buried deep in samsara, where love lies sealed in ninefold dust.
Twilight lingers between the brows, a faint heart-light aglow— who returns in dreams across the ten-fold worlds? Through fate’s long journey, a thousand years of seeking dreams wandering the edge of the world.
The warm fragrance of tea drifts through three thousand lifetimes. A single thread of longing cannot draw back those scattered bonds of fate.
From one thought, sentience arises— a thousand trials cannot ferry it beyond the fate of mortal dust. Fate rises like the wind, and ends like a dream; in countless backward glances, we wait in vain for history to turn back.
阳光·风起·云开·朝日 Sunlight · Wind Rises · Clouds Part · Morning Sun
Sunlight gives without end, shining over five thousand years of China— through periods of glorious, radiant history, and times of devastation, shattered rivers and mountains, scarred by humiliation and foreign domination.
Wind rises, time leafs through the legacy of dynasties; heroes live on, their valor passed down in timeless verse. They laid the foundation of a great nation, their spirit endures, their flame never fades.
Clouds part, awakening soaring ambitions. New China rises, 1.3 billion compatriots join hands and strive forward, building a flourishing era together, forging a brand new age.
Morning sun shines upon a renewed, resplendent land, born of generations’ tireless endeavor, bringing strength to the nation and technological leaps. With faith and duty held deep in our hearts, we march onward toward a radiant, promising future.
太阳老爷爷 · 阳光照不到的地方 Grandpa Sun · The Place Where Sunlight Cannot Reach
Grandpa Sun, are you tired? Billions of years have passed— You remain steadfast and tireless, day after day: a quiet flame, a silent guardian.
Even when dark clouds blanket the sky, and storms rage without mercy, your light—steadfast as ever— still reaches every shadowed corner of the world.
No matter how many struggles or barriers arise, as long as one is willing to open up, sunlight will quietly find its way in.
Beneath the blazing sun, there are no illusions, no lies. Yet this world hides so much darkness, lurking in corners where light cannot reach. The depths of the human heart— a coldness even the fiercest sun cannot melt.
Sentient life, after four billion years of tossing and turning, emerged gently from clay minerals and organic specks. Human civilization—barely five thousand years— in Grandpa Sun’s eyes, not even a fleeting breath. —And yet, we ask: have we already reached the end?
We defy the “Way”, and harbour the arrogance of defying Heaven. Plunder and conquest, genocide, ceaseless slaughter. History repeats itself— again and again, without end.
To become a virus to all life and the Earth’s ecosystem. Even viruses have the awareness not to destroy their hosts. But we— we’ve cast aside all restraint. We ravage our Mother Earth, lay waste to our only home. And in the end, we will surely destroy ourselves.
One day and night, the wind stirs old dreams, the rain nurtures new life. A journey of the heart.
Last night’s wind, wrinkled an autumn pond, swirled the scattered leaves, ruffled a fading dream, and blew away a lost connection.
This morning’s rain, sprinkled lines of words from the heart, lifted a curtain of recollections, wet the dried-up memories, and blurred the reflections in the lake.
The morning’s gentle light, dyes the sky’s horizon gold, welcomes a clear, sunny dawn. Light spreads across the earth, igniting all life’s vigor, nurturing all life.
The evening’s fading glow, paints half the sky red, awaits the gentle night. Night’s curtain lowers, resting the world’s busy cares, quiet night warmly heals body, mind, and soul.
Last night’s wind, this morning’s rain, Between dawn’s light and evening’s shade, the heart journeys with day and night, while dreams embrace the morning bright.
From Faded Dreams to Morning Light • Prose Reflection
One full day and night — a journey of the heart. To walk from night into dawn is to embark on a quiet voyage of farewell and renewal. It is a crossing through time, a complete cycle of change. The wind scatters the past; the rain nourishes what’s to come. It is the letting go of past dreams, memories, and connections — and the gentle arrival at morning light, at hope, at new beginnings. With calm acceptance and quiet release, the heart passes through — unresisting, unbound, simply following its own course.
Last night’s wind stirred the stillness of the heart, ruffling its surface and lifting leaves long settled in dust — memories thought forgotten, but never truly gone. Old dreams, faded connections — all undone, all scattered.
This morning’s rain called forth heart-whispers long unspoken, lifting a curtain of past moments. Fragments of memory — once believed dried and sealed away — are softly moistened by the gentle rain, rippling again through the soul, blurring reflections, half-remembered, half-lost.
And then — the clear morning sun. Its light ignites the vitality of all living things. But it is more than nature’s awakening; it is the turning of a page within, the rebirth of the spirit — a farewell to faded dreams, an embrace of morning light.
In the tenderness of night, emotions find balance, and the heart quietly heals. Worldly cares fall away one by one. Old dreams drift off with the wind — and at last, the soul comes to rest in stillness.
Wind and rain have borne witness to the soul’s journey and its quiet transformation. Through the passage of day and night, the spirit awakens from its old dreams, and in the morning light, finds the hope of being gently held once more.
Spring waters flow eastward, the green hills still gaze south in silence. Wild cranes have flown afar, with idle clouds for company. Falling blossoms, asking not where they go, follow the current, drifting away.
I lift my head and watch the weary geese— in V-formation, soaring across the skies, from north to south, season after season. They journey on, but truly, for whom?
You, far from your mother’s embrace, on the other side of the world, lingering in the season of peach blossoms, pointing at autumn winds, gently musing winter nights. You walk through days of soft sunlight, where egrets skim the water and the wind chases paper kites, gently calling my name.
How many winters and summers does a life contain? How many times do we cross between north and south? The ambitions of spring care not for east or west, just leaving behind the shadows of time and traces of our steps. Yet we remember the road that leads us home— broad as a summer path, and also, a haven through autumn and winter.
Do not cry because it’s over, smile because it happened. The beauty of the world， is all before our eyes. Let not the longing for what is not, make us miss what is.
Not for what is lost do I grieve, But for what I hold, I rejoice. Success and failure, gain and loss— all drift like clouds. Let not failure entangle the heart, nor steal the sweetness of success.
Not for others’ brilliance do I fret, but for my own achievements，I cheer. True worth lies within the soul, not in another’s gaze. Let not petty disputes dim your inner light.
Not for fading youth do I despair, but for the rising sun, I give thanks. Through joy and sorrow, coming together and apart, I’ve lived it fully, with grace. Let not what slip away bring sorrow, and make you forget to live this moment.
Not for aging looks do I sigh, but for the strength to live unassisted, I am glad. Though youth may fade, the spirit sinks deep. Let not yesterday’s silent passing, make you lose life’s delights.
Not for life’s brevity do I despair, but for each moment of beauty and brilliance, I hold dear. The truth, the good, the beautiful— they sing of why life is worth living. Let not desires and delusions, steal away eternity in a moment.
下龙湾，halong bay, Vietnam 25.12.2015索伦托 Sorrento Italy 23.9.2018
皎皎我心
明月弯弯， 普照九州。 五千载荣辱浮沉， 百年砥砺，五代图强。 负千辛，破万难， 血与汗写就辉煌。
昭昭明月， 寸土泛光。 千秋风骨耀青史。 经济腾飞，科技突破， 勤耕耘，心不息， 万世薪火映中华。
朗朗乾坤， 照耀世人。 江山万里英才出， 二弹一星，震慑寰宇。 神不屈，梦不休， 智械翱翔技争锋。
皎皎我心， 侃侃胸襟。 长风破浪正当时， 脚踏大地，胸怀星海。 学不辍，思不歇， 青春筑梦照乾坤。
c.h.e.f andy
=========================
published on 26.6.2025
see my English translation 👇🏻
皎皎我心 Bright Is My Heart
The moon arcs gently, Its silver light bathing all Nine Provinces. Five millennia of honour and disgrace, rise and fall, A hundred years of toil, five generations striving. Bearing countless hardships, breaking myriad trials, blood and sweat have written our brilliance.
The radiant moon still shines, its light glimmers on every inch of land. The unyielding spirit of a thousand years shines across our chronicles. The economy soars, science breaks through, we labor diligently, our hearts tireless— the eternal flame of a people lights up China.
The vast heavens, clear and bright, illuminate all beneath. Across ten thousand miles, heroes arise; Our twin bombs and satellite shook the world. Unbending in spirit, unending in dreams, with AI and drones we soar and compete.
Bright is my heart, and open is my soul. With the wind behind us, this is the time to ride the waves—— grounded on earth, our hearts embrace the stars. We never cease to learn, nor rest our thoughts, as youth forges dreams to light the sky.
Starlight, the heart’s whisper in the night sky, a secret that glimmers and fades, a flickering confession in the silence.
Once, beneath the moon, we pointed our fingers to count the stars— they were the edge of our ideals, the place where dreams first began.
Back then, stardust glowed between our brows. We believed time was ours to hold—like stardust between our fingers. We watched the stardust fall, each a dream we never spoke aloud.
When did the stars draw their curtain? It was because— the dust of living veiled the starry sky, the heart forgot how to dream, and time lost its heartbeat.
The path through time, draped snow over the fire in our hearts. Our original heart rekindled the light. What we long to guard against is not the end of life, but the end of dreams.
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.
Time flows on, Splendor fades away. Sixty swift years have passed— Yet a blade of grass feels like yesterday.
In a fleeting moment, beauty comes and goes. As light sinks into dusk, the original heart still softly glows.
Nightfall brings a gentle chill, autumn frost colours the temples. Love is tucked into every sleeve, unfaded by the brush of time.
Grandchildren at play, family joy in full bloom. Affection seeps through the sleeves we wear, and heritage is cherished, generation to generation.
The sun and moon take turns, light and shadow in seamless flow. Storms hasten the passing years, the moon’s waxing and waning follow its own rhythm.
寸草犹昨日 A Blade of Grass, Feels Like Yesterday (Prose Reflection on the Poem)
This title draws from a line in Meng Jiao’s Tang-dynasty poem “Song of the Wandering Son”: “Who says the heart of a blade of grass can repay the warmth of spring in full?”
Parental love is like the sun in spring — warm, constant, and nurturing. Even if a child holds a heart as sincere as a blade of grass, how could it ever truly repay the boundless care poured forth over countless springtimes? “A blade of grass, feels like yesterday” becomes a meditation on life, on memory, and on the enduring ties of family.
Time flows without pause, slipping silently through the gaps between fingers. The splendor of the past has long since faded; sixty swift years have passed in the blink of an eye. Life, like grass, is fragile and humble. And yet — even after all these years — the heart of that single blade still feels vividly present, as if it were only yesterday. This is a heart of filial devotion, of original intent, of tender affection — or more broadly, the enduring warmth of human love. It is the feeling that, though time rushes by, memory clings close.
The word “xuyu” means a very brief moment. Like a spark of lightning or a flicker of thought, it reflects how swiftly life can pass. Beauty, like spring blossoms, comes and goes in that fleeting instant. Brilliance stands for life’s dreams and glories, while dusk marks the entrance into our later years. Even as radiance fades, the heart’s original light remains — a soft and enduring glow that gently warms the soul.
Evening brings a subtle chill; autumn enters, and with it, life’s twilight. Frost now touches the temples — strands of hair quietly turning white. Night, cool air, and autumn itself all become subtle notes in the music of time. The sleeves are filled with love — so much that even time cannot brush it away. Love lies hidden in the sleeves—though the temples grey with autumn frost, the heart’s deep affection has never faded.
Laughter rings from playing children; generations gather in joy. This is the richness of life renewed — as one life approaches its twilight moments, many others bloom. Affection overflows from the heart, seeping through the collar. From generation to generation, it is cherished and passed on—preserving the spirit, the bonds, and the traditions.
The sun and moon take turns; light and shadow flow in endless succession — the very rhythm of time and the laws of the cosmos. Winds of change stir and hasten the passing years. The moon waxes and wanes, just as human life ebbs and rises — each with its own appointed rhythm. There’s no need for clinging or regret. Every life has its luminous moments — each one, in its time, full of brilliance.
c.h.e.f 