Chapter 7 7

61 Go to the place where he works with the workers and be his like-minded friend. Where he plays, sit around him, be his companion. Follow him and let your feet follow the beat of his drum. To rush into the crowded bazaar - the bazaar of life and death, for he was with the people, in the center of the tumult. Don't be frightened and shaken on the desolate mountain road covered with thorns, because at every step you can hear his call, and we know it is the cry of love. 62 In the early morning, the bell in your temple rang, and faithful men and women walked quickly along the forest path with offering flowers.

But I lay on the grass under the shade of the trees and let them hurry by. I think I'm right to be lazy. Because at that time, my flowers were just about to bloom. At dusk, when the flowers were in full bloom, I happened to go to vespers. 63 The way of my Lord lies silently before my door, and it arouses longing in my heart.It stretches out its arms beckoning me, its silence beckons me out of the house, its wordless entreaty kisses my feet. I don't know where it will lead me, is it boundless joy, unexpected harvest, or unpredictable danger? I don't know where it winds and where it ends—but my Lord's way lies silently before my door, and it arouses longing in my heart.

64 At nightfall I came to my Lord's door, and my traveling companions asked -- "What have you to offer our Lord? I didn't know what to show them, and I didn't know how to answer, because I only had one song to offer. At home, I have done a lot of preparation; there, there are many needs and many people who ask. But when I come to my Lord's door, I have only this song to offer, to weave it into his garland. 65 My song is like a spring flower, it is your gift. But I still take it as my own and dedicate it to you. You accepted with a smile and rejoiced in my proud joy.

If the flower of my song is fragile, if it fades and mixes with the dust, I will never mourn. Because, "absence" in your hands is not "disappearance", and that brief moment of prosperity will always be bright in your wreath. 66 My lord, you ordered me to play the flute by the roadside, and those who shoulder the burden of life and live silently may stop running for a while, sit down in front of the porch outside your palace gate, and think in astonishment; way of looking at the ancient past, and rediscovering ourselves, saying, "Flowers are blooming, birds are singing."

67 When poetry awakens in my heart, I think my poetry is the playmate of morning flowers.When they flapped their wings and flew to the field, I thought my poems were the spirits of summer, coming suddenly with a thunder and thunder, roaring, laughing wildly, exhausting all energy. I think they lost their way, rushing in response to the maddened call of the storm, beyond the land of the setting sun. But now, in the twilight, I see the blue shore, and I know that my poetry is a boat that has crossed the vast sea and brought me to the harbor on the other side. 68 There are countless strings on your lute, please let me add one of mine.When you pluck the strings, my heart breaks its silence and my life melts into your song.

Among your countless stars, please let me add my little oil lamp.At the dance of your festival of lights my heart will tremble and my life will smile with you. 69 May my songs be as simple as waking up in the morning, like the dew on the green leaves. May my songs be as simple as the colors of the clouds, as the midnight showers. However, my strings were newly tuned, and the tune that came out was new, sharp and piercing like a spear. Thus they lose the charm of the wind, and detract from the clarity of the blue sky; and the unnatural temperament of my song struggles tenaciously to push your music back.