Eradicate the shadows, and the earth rises into the air.
The singing voice of all things is full of color, power, and joy.
In every corner of time, there are sun, moon and stars.
Mountains and waves, grasslands and deserts.
Their pulses beat and are always in sync.
They are like brothers and sisters, born of praise or gossip.
A road that swallows thorns, rocks, and dark clouds.
Facing a poetic distance and a future of infinite possibilities.
The seeds break through the cold winter and ignite the bones of silence.
The strings are playing, the brass drums are beating, and the times are calling.
No one can stand the tide alone.
Butterflies mend remnant dreams, and eagles raise the base of the season.
The spring flowed into the cracks of the lips, and the warm wind pressed down.
Dead wood and wild grass regenerate keys, and snow washes flesh and blood.
The forgotten past has not become cold and moldy.
The tongue of the narration is impartial and does not add oil and vinegar.
Presents the original look and texture, on the back and chest.
Plums, orchids, bamboos, chrysanthemums, and bright lights are planted.
Turning, sinking into the halls and houses.
They all rose up, and touched the smoothness of the blue sky.
Footprints are superimposed on footprints, and the thickness of the days is greatly increased.
A flower blooms, pulling the nerve center of the whole spring.
Carry lanterns at night and look for closed exits.
There may be setbacks, but there will be no despair.
You may be surrounded by fog, but you won't panic.
The Big Dipper, never separated, when it was the darkest.
They pull the tightest with each other, sinew to bone.
The tilted world has been straightened.
Mossy mythology, open your eyes.
The grains of sand also have a vast side, as well as the weight of a thousand catties.
We tear down the fence between hearts.
Prejudice, doubt, narrow-mindedness, will be the sharpness of the sword.
The voice of the crow and the fangs of the wolf.
Will bluff the thunder, will make the mask.
They were all buried deep or smashed with a hammer.
None of our smiles are mixed with a hint of frost.
White cranes flew over the swamp and flew over the redundant warning signs.
Gently brush away the wrinkles of thoughts and emotions.
Approaching dusk, the post of destiny, cannot be missed.
The cliffs are on the side of the sweet dream.
When we are asleep, we need to be awake for a while.
We also need to let go of arrogance and arrogance.
Some catastrophes are difficult to predict, and some tears are difficult to measure.
We are on the same scene, and no one is an outsider.
The wind and rain we drink have the same taste.
On the bare branches, green flames are squeezed out.
Squeeze out fruits, rainbows, songs, heartbeats.
In the pinhole, there is a great river and mountain.
The iron hooves of the night follow closely the stragglers and the lonely-wanderers.
Storms lurk in the weak spots of the human world.
Potholes, obstacles, shotguns that are visible or invisible.
Waiting for an opportunity, a simple way of survival.
Expose the shortcomings and can't cover the wider world.
The city walls lost their original function, digging ravines.
It will only cut off wealth, opportunities, and flowering.
The awakened soil, lifting the heavy autumn.
Humanity has used its wisdom to decipher the code of God's safe.
Harder than steel, are beliefs and skulls.
It is the light that pierces the clouds and the human heart.
Softer than water, are kindness and musical instruments.
It's the one who can melt the ice.
The tree runs to the top of the mountain, and the stone grows wings.
The swans marry ants, and the forbidden land gains boundless freedom.
None of this is surprising, life is never a foregone conclusion.
There is no dead end, even if it is a terrible poison curse.
will be uprooted and reduced to ashes.
The abandoned body, find the soul, and walk around again.
How similar we have struggled with sorrow.
Hunger tortures the stomach, and desolation spreads over the homeland.
Bullets were staring at the back, and the smoke of gunpowder filled the annals of history.
Next to the wound, surrounded by flies, shame nails into the vertebrae.
The plague is like a flood of beasts, helpless.
Loved ones leave prematurely, and ideals are only empty shells.
We need to screw the forces together, we need to work side by side.
Remove the accumulated palpitations, anxiety, and pain.
In the word with good texture, salvage the lights.
The absence of any chess piece is a matter of winning or losing.
We have the same opponent, extremely strong, looming.
He has a trick, and we have a trick to deal with it.
There is an unspeakable mystery between retreats.
And we understand it and open our hearts.
The river of broken streams, resurrected and danced at the fingertips.
Rescue the dignity, individuality, and glory of being imprisoned in poverty.
There is no single lock that can lock the lushness of an area.
The roar of the sea, the illusion and magic of the desert.
The obstruction of dangerous peaks, the strangeness and conspiracy of deep valleys.
failed to destroy the hard bones and ambitions of the millennium.
The footprints of our ancestors are engraved in the sky.
Engraved in the roots of the heart, the heat is still there.
Faith wiped by lightning will not rust.
Horses, camels, boats, etc., are all heroes.
They broaden the day and night, the imagination and reality.
We're just moving forward along the lines of yesterday.
But it needs to be injected with new oxygen, nectar, aroma.
Exhalation and inhalation, passage and eternity, seamless.
Chrysostom's words are shiny and loud.
Falling into the rock, the horse on the horizon returns.
Fall into the snowy fields, beautiful fairy tale buds, or flap your wings.
Falling into the palm of his hand, the peach blossom source was pulled away by bees.
Sincerity and respect for the river, the lion, the peony.
And to the creek, rabbit, jasmine, just as much.
Equal weight, no sorting and division.
Praise the stars, and they all regard them as confidants.
With pleasant color, with elegance, with benevolence and righteousness, hospitality.
The train to the depths of happiness is constantly accelerating.
Outdated and vague road signs, all replaced.
We can see the universe in the leaves.
You can also see the universe gently holding the leaves.
We can mine it from something smaller than dust.
Enough energy to carry 100,000 mountains and 100,000 hectares of sea.
Iron is softening, wind is solidifying, water and fire are coming in.
In each other's bodies, the resentment is completely lifted.
Technology, reversing many of the original propositions and definitions.
The city in the clouds is like a fairy world, and it does not lose its fireworks.
Equip the jungles and depressions with amblyopia clairvoyance.
Equip deaf villages and steep slopes with tailwind ears.
The deeds and expressions of a foreign country are clearly visible.
The laughter and sobbing inside the time came to the bottom of my heart.
It rained in the east and soaked in the west.
Gunshots rang out in the south, and chills rang out in the north.
Distance can no longer intercept bad news or surprises from afar.
The fire washes away the shivers, and the flowers hug the sunset.
The hills, the wilderness, and the lake, sprinkled with gold dust.
Stone monuments, ancient bells, and wild goose arrays, holding Zixia.
This shore and the other shore are stuck together.
The land catches up with the season, and the red deer catches up with the grass.
Birds catch up with the swaying of the branches and the stretch of the clear sky.
All beings share all applause and cheers.
Retired heroes, or tough guys, or women.
They are all back to the forefront, pushing thunder, waves, and the general trend.
Turning over the sky, and the sourness and bitterness of life arching.
This road, which has come from ancient times, is still alive and well.
Still through the steepness of the mountains, the ferocity of the water, and the bleakness of the night.
Ascend to the heights and enter the core of the era.
Hanging doubts, in front of it, full of loopholes.
The truth is deep and shallow, and the prophecy is up and down.
It carries the mission to return the bones to the paralyzed praise.
Return the abundance to friendship, love, and longing.
Hostility, hegemony, and slander that surround them.
There is no opportunity to take advantage of it, and the soul is frightened.
There is still a camel caravan walking on the porcelain, the original appearance.
The sound of the camel's bell drives away the dust and the expanse on the eardrums.
The plateau where the qi and blood are smooth is as soft and elegant as silk.
Passing merchants, envoys, monks, samurai, herdsmen, etc.
Together, they create thousands of kilometers of magnificence and tranquility.
The snow-capped mountains meditate on the tips of the grass, and the rivers rush in the sand.
On the rock wall, the gods are saving broken souls.
Many battlefields have been transformed into stages, and compassion is moistened.
The knife wound heals, and the inner prison is no longer imprisoned.
Yourself and others, calmly embrace the calamity of the poplar.
He lived for three lifetimes, a clean body, and was immortal.
Moonlight on the Gobi Desert, moonlight on the sea.
The moonlight of the Tang and Song dynasties, the moonlight of the present.
It's white, it's full, it's beautiful, it's all singing.
The heaviness, sadness, and gloom in the corners of his eyes were torn off one by one.
The end of one story becomes the beginning of another.
Historical materials are flowing with fresh blood.
On the ruins, there are brave generals.
Demons, thieves, and conspirators can't get even a step closer.
Only those who are clothed in moonlight and can shine like moonlight.
to be eligible, please come out of a road and continue to extend.
The vast earth has shrunk into a village.
Our destinies are together, for better or for worse.
Arrows are coming wildly, and we're all in a mess.
Birdsong is depleted, fields are sterilized, and lakes are suffering from incurable diseases.
The glacier burst into tears, the mountain collapsed, and the sky turned black.
These will cause us calamity, a blood-eating axe.
will not be merciful to anyone, selfishness will lead to tragedy.
We can't store dangerous goods in the green theme.
No species should be deprived of the right to survive and reproduce.
Look, the giant claws of the haze are aimed at our vital point.
We met at the intersection at the perfect time.
Fengyun cut off the fat and abolished the murderous appearance.
The sun is shining, and the pigeons are spreading out the vast auspiciousness.
The sand dunes and barren mountains that press on the body, reduce, lighten.
The Lamb freed himself from humility, held his head high, and strode toward the center of the earth.
Thornless water droplets, hatching the beauty of grasslands, gardens, and alluring cities.
We give each other scenery, warmth, and blessings.
We pinned a path around our waist and placed it on our chest.
Split pitch black, cloudy, stiff, and do not flinch.
You will be able to reach the top of the world and life as you wish and on time.
About the Author].
He Yongfei, Bai nationality, born in 1982, a native of Dali, Yunnan, pen name Bo Chanzi, a member of the Chinese Writers Association, a representative of the 8th National Youth Innovation Association, a student of the New Era Poetry Advanced Research Class of Lu Xun Academy of Literature, is known as the "singer of the soul". He has published more than 10 books, including "The Ancient Road of Tea Horses", "Facing the Snow Mountain", "Through a Small Piece of the World", "Divinity in Western Yunnan", and "The Wind Passes Through the Fingertips". The poetry collection "Through a Small Piece of the World" was selected into the 2020 "Star Series of Chinese Minority Literature" by the China Writers Association, and many works have been supported by the China Writers Association, and were rated as advanced individuals in the practice of the theme of "going deep into life and taking root in the people" in 2022 by the China Writers Association. The work has won the first prize.
The 8th and 9th Yunnan Literary and Art Awards (Literature Award), the 25th National Lu Qu Poetry Award, the 11th National Minority Literary Creation Horse Award, etc. The English version of the long poem "The Ancient Tea Horse Road" (translated by American sinologist Saul Thompson) was published by Aurora Press and Chinese Translation Publishing House in the United Kingdom. **Sichuan Literary Magazine.
Editor: Zhan Yuhan.
Review: Lu Zhizhang.