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Book of the Afterlife, Preface Poem

Now I just want to be quiet.

Lying beside a person, let the shadow of the clouds in the sky.

Thousands of years have drifted across our faces.

We have loved and forgotten.

It grows like grass, burrowing through our fingers, drowning our bodies until.

It turns into dust, fossils, and starry skies.

The rustling of fallen leaves, talking to us, this is the song of spring birds in the distance, the water flowing through the houses of the world, and people walking through old dreams and waste poems, sunsets and broken bridges.

Walking through the crumbs of our words, the long nights we spend with resentment;

Sing some hoarse out-of-tune ballads and laugh a laugh that never whirls for anyone again.

Ah, the plains are widening, a road stretches over the forgotten map, and I turn into the wind in the darkness night after night, and into candles, and burn our own void.

Don't tell the stories of strangers anymore, it's just crickets gnawing on the pillow.

Don't talk about the permanence of the previous life, this life and the sun and the moon, the sand clock is flipping, flipping the barren spiritual platform.

Migratory birds flank in the sunset, a season comes so sadly, after singing it sings again, and the world disappears it can only be like this.

But I just want to be quiet.

Lying beside a person, let the glow of the clouds in the sky.

A day like a thousand years drifts across our faces.

I hope. People often ask, what kind of partner should I find?

I said, I hope that she, like me, has blood in her chest and a wound in her heart, and she doesn't want a full moon flower or a short flute.

To be poor, poor like tea, a wisp of fragrance in the bitterness, to be proud, proud like an orchid, hanging a face of autumn frost.

We dare to wander in the white cemetery in the dark night, to listen to the miserable laughter of the owls, to chase the drifting fluorescent.

Like us, we dare to lay a stake on the road to the future in the forest.

On the dry branches, the ape stretches out its arms, and is not afraid of the snakes spitting green mangs in the stone bushes.

Like us, we dare to follow the whale, row a flat boat, and explore the distant harbor, let the wind be like a death knell, and the fog like a flying net.

We dare to plant pine seeds in the mud and want it to become sorghum, and we dare to hold up the morning light, step on the flowers, and go to death.

Although, I am just a sesame seed, blown away from the home of the stem, far away from the gentle singing voice of the lark, far away from the charming fragrance of roses.

I firmly believe that there is another sesame seed, lying on the stormy earth, although we have not met, but I am ultimately optimistic, because we are holding the same sun.

In this way, in the constellation that covers the sky, to find the shimmering light, and in this way, in the dense forest that covers the sun, to identify the vague leaf palm.

Give you two poems by Wang Guozhen.

Love life I don't think about whether I can succeed or not.

Since you have chosen the distance.

Just take care of the wind and rain.

I don't think about whether I can win love.

Since I love roses.

and be brave enough to confide in sincerity.

I don't think about whether there will be cold wind and rain behind me.

Since the goal is horizon.

All that is left to the world is the back.

I don't think about whether the future will be flat or muddy.

Just love life.

Everything is expected.

The mountains are high and the road is far away, and the shouting is the silence that erupts.

Silence is a silent call.

Regardless of agitation, it is not tranquility.

I pray, as long as it's not bland.

If you call me from afar.

I'll go off the road.

If the mountains call me.

I went to the mountains.

Feet worn out Simply let the setting sun smear the path.

Scratch your hands and simply turn the thorns into cuckoos.

There is no longer road than a foot.

There is no higher mountain than man. Can?