Looking at the blue sky, the green of the leaves hides a longing, and the sound of cicadas forced by the high temperature makes people miss the summer of childhood.
Hidden in the township, the soul inhabits the firewood, rice, oil and salt of the village, the eyes of half a life of debauchery and poverty are full of melancholy and pathos, the middle age sleeps in the fog of smoke, money devours the warmth of the world, and also makes people's blood lose its temperature, the rest of the time I have no intention of rewriting my life, everything follows the fate.
Looking at the green mountains and green plants, watching the flowing clouds freely, the full belly will eventually be covered with withered yellow autumn leaves, and a sad and compassionate heart is faintly painful in the ugliness and dirtiness of human nature! Solitude, meditation, suppressing all the chores in the deepest part of the heart, time will always destroy everything, including our lives.
The wind of August, blowing the story of February, I no longer write poems to pay tribute to parting, because there are still many unknown madness ahead, I have to reserve some of my talent to write a superb poem for life, if there is an afterlife, I want to write the poem on the bluestone of which peach blossom source, so that the unfinished love in this life can start again in the next life.
A cup of strong tea has opened a rhapsodic journey under the autumn sun, ideals have long been crushed by money, once lofty ambitions have been forgotten in the barren fields full of material desires, fiery hearts have become insensitive in reality, the road of life is filled with some foul-smelling garbage, noble sentiments have also been ugly and corrupted by money, and people are everywhere with money to create cause and effect for themselves.
The world is big and absurd, I, as a speck of dust among all living beings, no matter whether my life is satisfactory or not, I really exist, I don't envy the brilliance of others, nor am I worried about my own eclipse! As Haruki Murakami said: Not all fish live in the same sea.
I am waiting for the leaves in the valley to turn yellow, I am waiting for the corn in the field to ripen, I am waiting for the message of the wind from afar, I am waiting for the sunset bath at dusk and the puddle of my imperfect body so that I can live safely and healthily in this imperfect world.
Wang Yonghong original 2023.8.13.