Wang masterpiece

Romance is consumed by dripping water.

She hasn't been married for ten years,

From daughter-in-law to woman,

It's like the cycle from primary teeth to permanent teeth.

A woman-my wife,

Her youth is like flowers in April.

Memory is as short as romance,

Drip wears away the stone.

She denied the cruelty of reality,

Reject traditional cuisine:

Keywords Regan Noodles noodles, eggnog, bean skin, beef powder,

Oh! Everything is changing like the wind, dear,

Let me cry for you on the edge of the night.

From elementary school to middle school, from voice change to pregnancy,

She leads an flattered life.

Nowadays, flowers are in full bloom,

As soon as the rhythm of fashion rings,

Life will change.

Just watch the plum to quench your thirst, there is no need to criticize.

A boastful reflection on the past—

She stupefied growth:

A dirty street,

Dozen of wobbly people,

They face the west, east wind, south wind or north wind,

Kill pigs or sheep, have children,

As time goes by, what remains unchanged is inner peace.

She hasn't been married for ten years,

From daughter-in-law to woman I'm on the run,

I'm in trouble for my son and her.

It's like a close marathon,

It's no good pulling out the seedlings to encourage them.

What it means to stick to it,

Persistence means everything.

Such a scene should appear:

Bridges and willows,

That young dream, the spring breeze blew a hundred times,

Will not germinate.

Inertia of industrial civilization,

Let the descendants of agriculture have nowhere to say goodbye.

Of course she didn't. In ten years of marriage,

From daughter-in-law to woman,

But the daughter-in-law will eventually become a woman.

Like the Duke of Windsor's oath,

Is it dripping water that wears away the stone, or is it sinking into the sea?

This refers to the age when deer are horses,

Those stories about death,

I really don't know.

Miss Fang Ming wsw

People are eagerly waiting for the memory of autumn.

I saw it under the osmanthus in October:

The night of the bright moon arrival.

The description, metaphor and modification of this moment,

Difficult to get rid of;

Rainwater irrigation:

To make a long story short, the rest of my life.

Your vague figure is trembling,

About 35 years ago,

Indecisive, vacillating.

Those who gild the lily are silent,

This silence let me know that I have to say it once if it is short;

Facing the lonely past,

We should ask questions with seasonal snow,

Your dusty name.

Zipengshan, I need your deep comfort,

Under this deep comfort,

A Chinese character turns a lost life point into gold.

Everything you see and feel,

Will be illuminated by its reflection.

People are eagerly waiting for the memory of autumn.

I saw it under the osmanthus in October:

You missed the opening.

In your deep sigh or cry,

In my childhood, teenagers and young people left home.

A quiet man married a lively wife,

Give birth to a group of children who travel from south to north,

They regard the mountain as king and are arrogant.

I know: I am old,

In the drums of woodchucks digging the ground,

I gave up on myself,

Then let the descendants engrave your name.

Snow mountains on the plateau

But the snow is still too deep, plateau:

I only see where you are standing.

Clear and white.

Very clear.

I want to leave the topic of death in a long dream,

If you don't wake up from your bed in winter,

I want to set this elusive snow mountain back a thousand years,

And then thrown into a river called moonlight.

Higher than Wan Ren,

On top of everything I used to praise.

Pure snow-capped mountains, stingy shrines.

Why not stay in a beautiful moment,

Why is that homeless beast,

Find a home in your broad mind,

But I lost my way again and again,

Wandering in different places.

In fact, only once,

I can totally see you.

But the snow is still too deep,

But the snow-capped mountains are still too far away,

Clear and white.

Very clear.

Because of the plateau,

I only see where you are standing.

Belong to the end of a river

The river runs through the jungle,

In low-lying mountainous areas,

The river rises and falls, but it is not rough.

The river flows quietly forward,

Night after night.

The place where they flow is that dark corner of mankind,

Wet and dirty, full of thorns.

The sky is overhead and the earth is under your feet.

This river is in such a zone,

Not nervous or relaxed.

The direction of the river is the direction of history.

When the first ray of fresh sunshine is projected into the secret history of the soul,

The river can't bear the weight,

That old car,

Rivers in the east.

The end of a river flows through the great river,

It belongs to the dream of ignorance.

The hint of a river is the hint of a lifetime.

May be accurate, more error-prone.

The death of another river makes human beings bend down to listen to its Buddha's light.

I know: what is transported under clear water,

Either the stone or the moon.

From Hubei to Hainan

From Hubei to Hainan, the land is decreasing.

The ocean is boundless.

Hometown is just a word,

Relatives don't recognize it.

Familiar things don't exist,

From roads to place names,

Everything is strange.

There's nothing wrong with that,

From Hubei to Hainan,

The silence I want is right here.

Strange streets, faces,

Unfamiliar sunshine, air,

Let me start over—

Gorgeous turn.

Say goodbye to the sad past,

Need courage, courage is getting less and less,

Like getting old. Like the hourglass of time,

Can't stop the years and tides.

From Hubei to Hainan,

My dream has finally come true:

The sea extends south to the south,

Forests cover open spaces,

The crowd changed from dense to sparse.

In a relaxed and lively environment,

Growth-not pulling out the seedlings to encourage.

The heat wave is rolling and new elements are constantly emerging.

The life I longed for has completely changed.

Everything is new, from Hubei to Hainan,

I put forty years of growth, aging, youth,

Left joy or misfortune.

I know.-I've tried very hard,

Relatives and friends who go their separate ways,

Concise and to the point. Out of fear of fate,

For the rest of my life,

Your infamous yesterday,

I decided to keep silent from now on.

In the depths of time

I saw the signs of life aging,

In the depths of time,

A word brings me a past.

As old as memory,

Sadness and vividness after happiness,

It is sweet, and it takes away a wordless bitterness.

Sad moment,

Those names, and the scenery,

Are they wet?

The nectar you've been longing for.

This is in the deepest part of time,

I clearly see the pain of the earth.

The helplessness of life drifting away,

Farther than the wind, farther than death.

A village that leaked rain in childhood, a low blue tile house,

Tonight, they filled me with passion.

Is that old buffalo still continuing its dream of spring?

Once, I fell off it,

It wasn't shit that I hit head-on.

Many years have passed and I can't forget it.

It is still a touching detail.

The boy who is obsessed with Tang poetry and Song poetry,

Shut his nagging mouth slowly.

He prefers Confucius and Laozi,

Zhuangzi and Mencius.

From the Analects of Confucius to the Tao Te Ching,

From Spring and Autumn Annals to Historical Records,

The day we are looking forward to,

Just wisps of smoke at the end of life.

As long as the breeze blows,

They don't know where to go.

In the depths of time,

It seems that we have never been here.

The living room in the afternoon is sunny.

The sun shines in the living room in the afternoon.

Its warmth touched me.

My shoulders and chest.

-I saw happiness at this moment.

Every time I read a book,

As you can imagine,

It happened in the spacious living room.

In the afternoon of faun,

I opened up another self.

Another illusory inspiration,

Or a light brown dream,

Sneak in through the window on the right,

The sunshine groaned there.

It saw my indifferent expression.

I slowly opened the book and turned to the page of death.

A beam of light passed through my eyes,

Suddenly remind of a folk proverb:

"Wedding night, be the first,

-I met an old friend in another country.

blossom and fall of flowers

February is the season when flowers bloom.

But February went too far and in a hurry.

The speed at which those flowers fall,

Faster than fast.

Water stunner, February,

It prevents me from naming cormorants with high necks.

What else was touched by the sound of falling flowers?

In the autumn of the ending note,

Why don't you slow down when the flowers fall?

Why not wait until another February,

Reopen it.

Time and time again, I wandered between the past and patience,

Repeat such a sad dream.

You can't be ashamed,

But singing, crying, self-appreciation,

Appreciate others again.

In the early morning, the fog of long-distance running has not dispersed.

Who starts a new job,

In the sweet-scented osmanthus,

Or red leaves,

Several elderly people slowly twisted their waists,

And their painful coughs,

Could it be the epitome of my old age?

When my frugal life disappeared,

Mild enteritis. Get out!

I'm leaving you,

Work miracles before the flowers bloom,

Tell the humor behind the flowers.

Blown away by the wind

Cicada in August makes you cry,

Memories take them to the distant horizon.

At the moment when the wind suddenly blows,

The sky is gloomy.

Strong winds bring at the same time:

A temporarily broken glass window.

At the moment of night arrival,

Bats began to fly.

The child you see under the drooping curtains,

A few years later,

They become clear in the strong wind,

Clean and clean,

Loneliness and missing.

This yearning is not time, nor will it last.

This is a fog,

The last fog.

They sway in the wind,

Drifting or singing,

And then disappeared without a trace.

Why are the fallen leaves not taken away by the wind?

There is sand and gravel everywhere.

Why do groups of children know the necessity of running?

I walk in the wind that takes away meaning,

Think hard and flatter yourself.

Writing in the rain, or a blank narrative

Write a rain, when it doesn't fall,

I started getting pregnant.

Its size, speed and manner,

Relating to inner needs or desires.

This is an idea,

There's another hypothesis,

It exists in that empty narrative.

It knows that if it rains too long,

Will affect the mood of another rain.

So it waits for a sunny day,

Say nothing in the rain.

Without a word, in the rain.

It saw the silence of everything in the world,

And the fragility of life itself.

These are real,

You see, its powerful exterior hides its heart,

So fragile.

It began to rain. Last night,

In my trance-like dream.

It's a thousand miles away,

Tireless, it's true.

As you predicted, the world is a blank narrative,

Rain can also be fictional.

It can also be named,

Metaphor from one place to another,

You must practice passing sentences,

Practice verbs and adverbials.

This seemingly simple content,

Is the whole truth.

Why did you stop?

Why did you stop?

After a drop of rain falls,

Or a blank narrative,

I dreamed that I had a dream.

It's not himself who is running in the dream.

No one else.

Summer sun

Three bats fly to the window in May,

Seven colors greet their standing posture.

Analysis of hints,

Assuming such a flight speed,

Such a summer light,

This is the light of comedy destiny, the light of longing.

Dim or intense summer light,

Lead the field of human existence to an open field.

Like my works, my poems,

My words and my plan.

Knock down success and hope.

The light in summer is a kind of hard and lasting light.

The light of the impossible possibility, the light of giving up.

The bright beginning or arrival of summer is illusory,

Not free to arrive.

What kind of watches should we use to make the summer light dull?

From persistence to giving up,

My friends and relatives,

The breath of a flying heart,

Whether it indicates a summer far away from century singing.

launch

With a slight sigh, I will give you a monologue in the spring.

Not branches and green shoots,

Youth or growth.

With a slight sigh, I will start a spring monologue for you.

There is life, this is just a once-in-a-lifetime journey,

The journey bears a fruitless memory.

With a slight sigh, I will start a spring monologue for you.

Still have to continue to expand.

5000 miles away in the desert,

Or white clouds 80 thousand miles away.

It unfolds silently in a betrayal way,

Like raindrops on fallen leaves,

Like dust leaving leaves.

It will still unfold,

Like a story without years,

Predict the future in the erratic swing.

It's still developing,

Or a bunch of flowers falling to make the river flow,

Sun and Moon are persistent and hard-working.

It makes you understand the days when flowers are surrounded.

This is an ordinary day.

It is still unfolding, unfolding for you.

However, it came to a screeching halt with a slight sigh.

Ayrilik Kolay Degil

Gesanghua in Tibet is still floating in the cold wind.

I think of the late autumn of 2009.

Snow-white Hada hesitated all night in Lhasa.

For more than a year,

Why is my heart still there-

Potala Palace, Bajiao Street,

Namco and Jokhang Temple.

Why do you sleep at night?

Butter lamps illuminate the moonlight again and again.

I really miss you guys,

Those lamas, believers,

The photographer who took my picture,

In an instant, hundreds of years of history are fixed behind us.

What's his name? I don't know-

The six-character mantra of Tibetan Buddhism,

Like the road to the sky extending further,

The huge golden dome of Tashilhunpo Temple,

Thrive in the singing of singer Han Hong.

Those fluttering prayer flags are like magnets,

Attract the souls of countless pilgrims.

It can't alleviate my sadness of parting,

This time, the pain of the disease was left thousands of miles away.

God's grace is at your fingertips,

Buddha is merciful.

There is also the warmth and sweetness of reuniting relatives after a long separation.

I think I'm tired. At Gongga airport,

When the plane starts to accelerate and taxi,

When the wind whistled in my ear through the clouds,

When I look down on the land of Tibet,

Things that shine with divine light,

I clenched my wife's hand and suddenly let go.

Another open door

I like its high door,

Its transparent dome,

Let thoughts pierce the blue sky.

At Wuhan Tianhe Airport,

How many times have I seen it as a huge—

White castle.

I am the king of the castle,

The princess and the prince saluted me in the morning,

Ministers are loyal to their duties,

The young queen and I are tired,

I miss my old life.

Why are these,

My other life. Does it exist?

In the East Lake and Fruit Lake areas,

I've lived for eleven years,

Not too long, not too short.

My wife and son,

In East Lake and Fruit Lake,

He said the airport was good;

When he arrived at the airport, he said Wuchang was good.

I like its magnificent momentum,

The airport is far from the city,

Air is like purification.

Maybe it is Ye Gong's good dragon. have

The second flight to Xiamen was two hours late.

In the majestic and tragic waiting hall,

Aimless music is infinite,

It's diffuse, slow—

Like a door that will never open, waiting for my arrival.

Actually, I'm used to this rhythm,

Between morning and afternoon,

Between novels and documentaries,

The dreamy snow-capped mountains moved me.

It melts every drop, like a backward history,

Laugh at people who turn a blind eye.

Those hungry faces, those scared faces,

And a smiling face,

I decided to give you the airport,

Which blue sky will you fly to next,

I can wait for him,

But you can't encourage it.

1 148 Li Qingzhao in autumn

This is the autumn of 1 148.

There are golden chrysanthemums everywhere,

It's overwhelming

In distant China, in the Song Dynasty,

A woman is unkempt and ill.

She wandered around like a refugee-in a trance.

The weakness of old age is immeasurable,

Her shadow soon disappeared after growing up again and again.

She walked a long way,

I can bravely write down my thoughts and rainbows.

Her name is Li Qingzhao, which means "to be an outstanding person,

Death is also a ghost man "woman;

"Looking for, it is cold and clear,

A miserable poet;

It's the young woman in Deep Courtyard.

In distant China, in the Song Dynasty,

This is the autumn of 1 148.

I saw this woman at the end of her rope,

Beauty in the distance,

This is the sorrow of a dynasty.

She went to Zhao Mingcheng, where she was inseparable.

Zhang Ruzhou, who made her infamous, disappeared.

The surge of "dried plums",

I heard the loneliness and whispers of drunkenness:

Don't die, people are thinner than yellow flowers.

Read a song "Who sent a brocade book,

When the word goose returns, the moon is full of the west building. "

Sigh a song, "Flowers float with water,

One kind of lovesickness, two places of leisure. "

Jin Juhua is everywhere, all over the mountains.

It crossed the river of time in 860,

For me, for you.

1 148, the autumn of Li Qingzhao-

Are you white-eyed or plain?

I like the warm sunshine in autumn.

I like the warm sunshine in autumn.

When the song of the season comes from the mountain stream,

Recalling walking in Jiuzhaigou at an altitude of 3000 meters,

Weave tourists to climb high and overlook.

I forgot my loneliness in the past.

Just vaguely recognized:

The road under your feet, and the red leaves,

They are always the same.

The children are jumping,

They can't see my childhood,

They feel the same as me.

I like the warm sunshine in autumn-

It contains all the warmth of life.

-I like it.

"The former home is still desolate"

I'm a little tired of saying it,

In the blink of an eye, five years later,

My son is soaring in the air.

He has a glib tongue,

Brought me all kinds of surprises,

It is difficult for me to be happy. Why does my growth have to be like this?

Like a vast grassland—

What makes the horse gallop!

It's a little sad to say,

In an instant, 40 years have passed.

My ancestral home is in the countryside, and I live in stormy times.

I spent time with countless old houses at sunset.

In your outline: once the door is still desolate.

Even ridiculously,

In a blink of an eye, I will enter middle age.

But you pretend to be a young man all day.

What is even more ridiculous is that my friend,

They are older than me and single,

I don't want to see my beautiful son.

It makes me afraid of getting old,

Nothing can face the past!

Behind Lijiang

Behind Lijiang is Yulong Snow Mountain.

Further away is Shangri-La.

They say Shangri-La is the place where immortals live.

I am not a fairy,

I stopped in Lijiang.

Getting smaller and smaller,

It is hesitating and staying for some small things.

Naxi women in Lijiang,

Men all the year round,

Live for children and families.

The silence in Lijiang has something to do with them.

The noise of Lijiang has nothing to do with them.

When the spring breeze blows from the snow-capped mountains in Lijiang,

It blows over the eternal things on the plateau-

It is beautiful and quiet here.

What I feel is an unspeakable sadness and desolation.

There are many stories behind Lijiang. Poverty, wealth,

Love at first sight,

Even up and down.

Nobody needs me or has anything to do with me.

I like the tranquility of Lijiang,

It doesn't belong to me,

This important lyric,

Yes or no, you must admit it.

Feel the life in Kunming in an afternoon in Cuihu.

Spent the afternoon in Cuihu.

It's my regret that I didn't cook raw rice into cooked rice.

Seagulls often go to Cuihu and Dianchi Lake.

I missed it. In Kunming,

I also lost a relationship.

A leisurely life, alas!

Where did it meet me unexpectedly?

Tourists are weaving, and the fragrance of Pu 'er is floating in the teahouse.

BLACKPINK also appeared with the sound of mahjong changing cards.

This anachronistic gap,

I decided to write a forgotten poem.

In my heart, how sad my decision is,

Every expressive word,

It's hometown, it's family.

They will hurt me when they come near me. ...

Bustling, all for profit,

I said this sentence silently,

The tea in my hand has been cold for a long time

I think I am very happy. In my later years,

I should write a spiritual autobiography,

The leading role and the supporting role are completely different.

Not happy at all.

When you think like this,

Son's cry suddenly came from behind:

"Dad, the toy you just bought was stolen.

I want to buy another one. "