Between two branches of the trees in deep early summer night, a breeze comes and goes, vanishing from the garden where my eyes stop through out of the window. It runs to somewhere to be alive and only I can tell for it touches my heart in a special way.
The whole world is dead and only the breeze is alive; it jumps into my sparkling eyes, touches my skin softly yet burns me into ash. The steams sing beyond steams, where somebody is sitting there quietly with a lion-roaring inside. Perhaps nobody. Nobody is there but the breeze. Who knows.
Lonely rivers flow and lonely hills sigh. No breeze rustles through the trees the moment. Not even in a dream. Empty. Silence. Faded. All lights were turned off, too. Faraway, a homeless cat slinks by in the wood, and there is another night cat sit beside her computer seeing what has happened but to choose closing her eyes.
But the breeze is still there. Digging into her flesh, sucking her blood, and more. It makes her become part of the beautiful night by thinking of nothing or anything, loving with nobody or somebody, and so on. The night always lights her so she knows well both her body and spirit would subside. All would turn to dust. But a breeze would be reminded?
Huilan, Your words of beauty touch me, move me to a deep place of thought. Your talent rings free with an insightful capture of moments: here...fleeting... Send me more words of beauty. I miss you dear friend of the heart.
惠兰 发表评论于
多谢尔尔妹妹的话，会继续努力。
尔尔 发表评论于
原来惠兰英文也可以写得这么美！
Indeed, the feeling enmeshed in the words is sad; and indeed, in the end, "all would turn to dust,"that's our common destination.
惠兰 发表评论于
多谢妹儿.
寒枝 发表评论于
到那边去看过了，可惜留不了言。一贯地喜欢……
惠兰 发表评论于
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By Dharam(New Zealand)
So utterly beautiful, so utterly from the heart.
Your poem was in my night thoughts, and in my thoughts
about the primordial breeze on fire, and primal ashes, that billions of years later became you ... you, and the early morning summer breeze on 10 June 2008.
For some reason I kept thinking of the breeze as carrying the fragrance of the flower ... flower by whose name you are known......
......Last night your flower shivered in the frozen winter soil, and the moon brought its shining silver light on the fragrant white beauty of your flower.I wished I could warm the flower ... and with that thought I went to sleep,
thinking of your breeze and your poem.
惠兰 发表评论于
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By Armand(U.S.)
WHat a wonderul, yet dark and sad poem. What a heavy heart, waiting by the computer waiting...hoping? to see another night cat, slinking quietly, and lonely, in the night, and yet doing nothing when she sees another such cat, just thinking about the breeze, but not stepping into it, as the fire in her belly and her heart first dim, then grow, then dim again, as the breez ebbs and flows in the dark, black night...
