There is no loneliness in spiritual days.

My love, with thick and slightly curly hair, went away in the crowds. Years go by; I am amazed to find I have not forgot that moment. When the train started, we passed each other face by face without a word. How could we have no word to say?

The lonely blue waited under the platform bridge. You felt your belly faintly bloated. The light was dark and songs were indistinct. Just wanted to be with you. The rosy red was waiting for the surprises in life.

Love was intoxicating. The skin and tongue were intoxicated. Tears had no way to hide and songs burst out. She had been fermented for too long. How did you get to the state today? You had had everything ----a man caring, considerate, comforting and tolerant, although he was so to every woman. Indeed, it had been too long. Daily trifles entangled him. He could no longer care what you did and what you thought. The river between you had dried up. Bed at night, little by little, turned into the dreadful Holy Land for death. When things become superfluous, one seems to have them or have nothing.

In spiritual days, the only one you could trust is God. And you finally know that God is the lover you are seeking for long.

To be with God, there is no embarrassment.

Those days in winter, it rained occasionally. Tender eyes rested on the yellow corduroy shirt. You looked at the virgin, say, we would be together forever. But it is over and times have changed. One day in 1998, you said over the telephone ' miss much, we should have been together…' And I know at last human worship God because of their weakness.

All these are out of my expectation. After these years I didn't expect still to be so sad. Tears accumulate more, voice becomes sensitive, and music changes into blood. Do Not know whether moved by you or by myself. I fancy the things about purity and virginity like your simile. Where have they been? At the very beginning.

When the voice on the phone became dried, love, this word shy to say, had been trampled for times. Perhaps, not for long, the new will be tanned into the old, with only some warmth of wind and interval sunshine on the surface. But, how could I forget by just shaking my head? The white sadness and kindness.

The favorite part is composed by several musical notes. Over and over I read and taste your fragrance as that of a boy. I even forgive the filthiness. I want to floor the land with essence and luxury. And you could run willfully over there.

If it could not continue then it shouldn't despite the yearnings.

Again and again you came unexpectedly with kindness on your face and tender love in your eyes.

I was defeated. Feather falls about.

It was not a season for fallen flowers although it was drizzling. Father said, 'Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and you shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you'.

The footprints on the red floor look good, the cigarette kept for long smell nice, a glass of fresh tea remains hot and strong. This is the season.

Good men are prone to hurt.

In such a season you came and left.

Don't cry.





Better wait





Alleluia, thank God. God will be with me, 'kingdom of heaven is in the midst of thin heart', what a wonderful and simple doctrine!






In the midnight , I am drawing an over-white flower.

This is a misunderstanding.

'Piaopiao'(cat) has sapphire blue eyes, sleepless, deep and serene.

I doubt.

Prepared to sacrifice but not know why.

Prepared to choose but not know if worthwhile

Prepared to love but not know if it is true

Love to watch the red of propylene dripping and flowing in water.

Midnight I am alone.

Oh, the sleepless midnight , tomorrow I will catch the train.

The heart following you is unpredictable.





In the later years, I will live in a longing. That's beautiful enough, my love.

There will be some good paintings and sentences for souvenirs.

Father is waiting for the daughter's marriage. But dad, I could not.

The perfect feverish chin, the ever-touched face, the eyes waiting for caress.

Why I always think you are innocent? God, I am turbid!

Only a few days but look much older. 'Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus, that he may dip the tip of his finger in water, and cool my tongue; for I am tormented in this flame'.

Jesus Christ, take me away!

Walk all around, could not stop the eyes and feet.

The spacious desert, the colorless winter, your essence is loneliness.

Heartbroken, break the heart of the lover and the one you love.

BLUES, the perfect and classical partial tone dilutes the black coffee.

Afterwards your feet are rotating, your dance could not stopping the woman with you whirling above the ground.

Give yourself a room, but BLUES could not fly on the river. You decide to float, float.

Let wild flowers blossom wantonly, regardless of the season, the color and the shape.

Let wild flowers blossom wantonly; let yourself float eternally.

Everybody will protect himself. There is a distance in a few days. It is tanned into the old.

But the old makes heart hurt. Smiling with tears and saying 'no longer intimate'.

Once lost it is irretrievable. Again.

The nature of winter is loneliness.





The only way is to choose God and leave everything to Jesus, as being too tired and exhausted.

Your eyes make me collapse. One will be hurt again and again without setting up defenses.

Dad, I am too far away from your expectations. I have to start a new life.


Silence spreads out the sky.






A hot sweaty night   A lover suddenly-arrived

A field vast and wild

A thoughtful pallid man   A silly kind woman

A house under renovation

A thread of odd light   A long disjointed talk

Two bewildered faces

Kisses without passions   Eyes with desire at times

Oh, a night

A night to be forgotten by sadness

A lover suddenly-arrived

A house being renovated

A field vast and wild




"My brethren, count it all joy when we fall into divers temptations; Knowing this, that the trying of your faith worketh patience. But let patience have her perfect work, that ye may be perfect and entire, wanting nothing."






The rain on the first day of August

pours down the secrets of the sky.

Sad branches

swing in the wind.





LORD, are you walking in the clouds, cruelly and leisurely?





A boy with big eyes and

pure cheek

knocks at my door suddenly to

inquire secrets.





The little boy with canine teeth

and local dialect

gros into a young tree

secretly loved

by the woman rich in words






---- To Heldrin, Haizi and Hanbo

three brothers,

they become family members after death

finally rest serenely

in the remote place not having a thing to their name.




Flooding season

Flooding season

Poet sets out

sailing along the river

going downstream---

witnessing a lot

the roofs, trunks and the dead.

On the boundless river

only the king and the river





After the rain

A glance at noon

determines the end of world.

On the poor and wild land

poems are born

king is born

without mother and without love.





The speciality

born from the sun, die for the sun and melt into the sun.






he night before I leave the city




Winter comes in advance

I become ---

the way you want me to.







are waiting above the mountains for ---

my return


are the blue in the sky


am the blue on the ground.





A yellow straw hat suddenly arrives here walking back and forth along the shiny streets. The blue cotton-print shirt bursts out the unexpected youth. In the sky there are full of your blue eyes gazing sharply at my nervousness in the morning.

SISTER DRUM strikes the sad morning. In every piece of the music, there are your drumbeats, your hands changing wonderfully the rhyme, the tone and the color of the sky --- changing the dreams, changing the campfire in the light of Africa --- my dancing feet are rotating, stars are shining and the night is deep, misty and pure.

I ask you through the music, " where are you?"

--- the voice murmurs, becoming part of the music.

It smells a bit sweaty in the air... CONSENTRATE...RELAX...let me have the first illusion in my life. Let it rest on the white paper.

Jiaqing, at this time, Bangkok must be shining brilliantly. (I recall the first time I met you. The sunlight floored the balconney of the small hotel in Lijiang , Yunnan . It outlined a golden silhouette of you in lonely silence. Yes, Jiaqing, I had never expected your coming into my life from the sunshine of that afternoon...) Shangri-la, the hometown of our souls. Black steeds, fine cows and sheep. The lambent eyes of Napahai's children immerse into the fog of the plateau --- I want to whip the horse on wildly. Jiaqing, your drumbeats chase me, let me suffocate.

Rereading makes me dimmed with tears, however what I am yearning is to reread you,


I do not want the waiting becomes endless and meaningless. I want to continue its fragments, its voice, and its fragrance, to let it occupy me in deep secret. Your silhouette in the light of night is like so much the father in youth, the father in love.

At that time, mother was so beautiful. Dark braids twined around the waist.

Taste it again and again. The skin burns a little bit. Do you remember?


Are you smoking too? Now

Just in different backgrounds. Behind you there is India in the color of orange. Shadows, black eyes hidden from the linen cloth and footstep moving slowly around… at that time you with only a pair of blue eyes through the lens and the blue sky in India attentively looked at me who had nothing except white paper and black words.

To commemorate--- that night with moon bright above the sky, the Chinese city you love, the green square, the mother's rusty-red long dresses and too much long black hair.


Think about that joke sad enough to wither easily. That only rose like the inverted inflection of dreams rocked in the water. You said you would cross the wide river if I had promised to marry you then… beer, coffee and night tea, why people all over the world need these. I forgot to tell you the way you smoke looked very nice, especially nice.

(oh, the stranger in Deli. The heavy rain pours from the sky and big raindrops fall off. The black and blue eyes look away to the distant places through the aged wooden windows… I am not coming from the remote place. I am merely an always-drifting native of this place. I want to see her eyes, in different countries, in different crowds finding her black eyes.)

"And whatsoever ye shall ask in my name, that will I do, that the Father may be glorified in the Son. If ye shall ask any thing in my name, I will do it."

Tonight pray with me, Jiaqing, let us pray for the promise of return.