《天粮》
天空，突然掉下一块
落在碗里，细珠般一粒粒碎开
洁净光泽的白
香气渗入我，在血肉和骨缝中
凝成微小的镜子
平平淡淡地说着刺心的话
手执一双筷子
一根历史，一根文化
锈红中隐约着花纹
轻重并不适当，素净的手
一粒一粒，香甜掺蜜的吗哪
从天上纷纷落下，在野外
寂静地等着
一只青花瓷碗般的灵魂
06/11/16晚
"Heaven grains"
A piece of heaven suddenly falls
Into the bowl, many little pearls have broken, one by one…
Clean and shiny white,
Condensed into tiny mirrors,
They speak plain words that stab my heart.
My hand holds a pair of chopsticks.
One is history, the other is culture.
Faint pattern is written in rusty red.
The weight is uneven, but hand neat and simple.
One by one, sweet manna glaced with honey.
Have fallen from the Heaven, into the wild.
Silently waiting for…
A soul like a white porcelain bowl with blue patterns
《字洞》
一个字就是一个洞
大多数时间，仅手指粗细
或者细若针孔——却深不可测
每时，都被字诱惑
从这端望进去，祈望
望透那个洞，抵达另一端的存在
在这一端的存在化成粉末之前
我还有多少时间？
竭力地望进去，视线和手指一样短
望进幽黑中，或是望进光中
沮丧，完全一样
彼岸的存在，被字隔绝
灵，一匹急欲挣脱肉体的骏马
为了让感觉，驭风而驰
穿过字。抵达，字另一端的真实
我不得不在消亡前
就承认，此刻存在的虚谎
对未见之信，成为视线无穷的延伸
2007/11/12 晚
"Word-hole."
A word is a hole.
Most of the time, as thick as a finger,
Sometimes narrow like a pinhole, unfathomable
Every time, I am tempted by word.
Gazing from this side, I pray,
Through the hole, to reach the yonder.
Before this side crumbles into a pile of powder,
How much time do I have?
Straining to see through, my sight is as short as finger.
Looking into the dark, or into the light,
Brings the same degree of depression.
The existence of the other side is separated by the word.
Spirit, a horse eager to rid of its enslaving body,
Running like the wind and lightning, just for his feeling.
Impaling word, to arrive at the other side..
I must confess before I expire,
The illusion of this very moment.
Faith of the unseen eternally extends my sight..
Listen
Read phonetically
《预言》
看天时，天外有只眼睛在看我
以为是太阳上小小的黑洞
或者月桂的一片叶。却被洞穿
洞穿了，也不觉得痛
只是想听见那眼晴里的声音
等了千年，等不到一滴泪爬出来
背转身，却承受了它的重量
上帝的眼泪，鸽子般飞来
羽毛丰盈中的暖意，贴在后心
它什么都没说，我却听见了
再向前走，脚旁就多了行足印
一同，或行或止。微微的亮
黑暗中，像是天外那只眼睛
在人间的倒影。往昔与未来都在
这一瞬，迭映，复瓣的牡丹
渴望预言的人其实幷不在乎明天
也不想让车头挂着七零八碎的货箱
咣当咣当咣当，沿着轨道走
只是渴望一只注视的眼睛，渴望
日常的时光，在这眼睛中绽放
谁能知道我呢？谁愿意将我牵挂？
造物主是否会以预言的方式
向人类弯下腰来？是否会以预言
伸出父亲般的手，抚摸冰凉的头顶？
风，无声地吹动着树梢
我的眼睛和天外的眼睛在彼此倾听
深深地，沉入馨香的寂静
先知们的预言像大大小小的鱼
在头上游来游去，吐着闪光的泡
我们却因爱而成为彼此的预言
"Prophecy"
Look at the sky, there is an eye watching me.
Perhaps it is a small black hole in the Sun
Or a leaf of cherry bay. But I am shot.
Ripped through, I feel no pain.
I just want to hear the voice of the eye.
For a thousand years, no tear came out of it.
Turning back, I shouldered the weight.
God's tears, like a swarm of flying pigeons,
Feathers rich but light, their warmth covered my back and heart.
It did not say a word, but I heard.
Going forward, I see an extra line of footprints.
In sync, walk or stop. A dim light
flickers in the dark, like the eye from above,
Casting an inverted image in the world. Past and future,
At this moment, overlapping reflection, as complex valve Peony.
The one who loves prophecy neither cares about tomorrow,
Does not want the locomotive to hang loose Containers.
Bam bam bam, walking along the track.
He only yearns for a watchful eye, hoping
His daily chore wins a sparkle in the eye.
Who knows me? Who is mindful of me?
Will the Creator bend over to human with prophecy?
Will he use his prophetic hand to touch the cold head?
Wind continues to silently ruffle the treetop.
Heaven’s eyes and my eyes listen to each other,
Deeply, sinking into a sweet quietness.
Prophets’ prophecies are like large and small fish,
Swimming above my head, spiting out gleamy bubbles.
We become each other’s prophecy in the bond of love.
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