I know you are mine, and it never occurred to me to determine the value of your gift. You don't even make such a request. Day after day, night after night, you emptied your flower basket, I glanced at it, threw it into the warehouse, and didn't remember it the next day. Your gift blends with the tender green of the branches and leaves in the new spring and the brilliance of the full moon in the autumn night. You covered my feet with the waves of black hair, and you said: "My gift is not enough to pay the tax of your kingdom, poor girl I have nothing more to give." While speaking, tears blurred your bright eyes.

You leave in a hurry, day after day, night after night, and I don't see you coming back. After several years of opening the warehouse, holding your gem necklace-like gift on my chest, my indifferent arrogance fell down on the ground printed with your footprints. Reminiscence shows the value of your love, I lost you before I got you completely. A nectar-like sweet smile flashed on your beautiful face, and you passed through the gaps of chatting, which unbelievably woke up my sleepy youth. It was a rare pearl rolled up from the bottom of the sea by the waves of the tide of play on the beach of billions of events.

For a moment, the emotion of the strange moment sang the song of the road, from the distant Hugh step to my half-closed window. Wonderful invisible fingers are playing lovesickness on the heartstrings. In the secluded residence under the drizzle, the touch of the invisible veil that has slipped from one side is left in the desolate fragrance of frangipani flowers at dusk. So I think of the moment of unreasonable surprise in a day; I think of the winter evening looking at the withered pastures; Winter is about to pass, and the curious dawn lifts the fog. Suddenly, I saw new dew-covered leaves sprouting from the branches of Wendan tree. This is a miracle of abundant business.

I was pleasantly surprised, just like the Immortal Ant Nephew singing the first line of poetry in surprise on the banks of the Damasa River. These few new leaves, in the long silent contempt, broadcast the hidden and frank news Bu's Zhaohui is like your heartfelt words that you should confide, and you leave silently. Spring is not far away, the curtain between you and me seems to be familiar and still alive, fluttering from time to time, with the corners curled up. Even the mischievous south wind cannot break the barrier. The moment of no taboo has not yet come. In the evening, you walk into an indescribable twilight.

On the edge of youth, there remains a dark red. Dissolve it, its fascination! In "clarity", wake up, my cloudy eyes!Thick mist of joy and sorrow smeared with the paint of memory and forgetting, dissipate like the evening cloud of self-contempt! I am surrounded by the soul of the fallen flowers and the fragrance of the fallen flowers, and the bees of the dream are buzzing, looking for the fragrance without trace. From the days when the shadows are locked, come out, my heart!Step into the sunshine and simplicity! The non-blinking gaze drifts to the sea of ​​creation that is speechless, disease-free, and worry-free!

I want to embark on a journey without a goal, to watch Vientiane peacefully and listen to music amidst the hustle and bustle of fleeting years; I want to hide in the empty outline of the vast plain where the crops have been harvested.I want to melt into the Sala tree where I meditate, and bury thousands of years of silent life. Crows are chattering in the tamarind trees, hawks are melting into the blue sky of the sun-baked sky, and fishermen are fishing on the embankment of the swamp. The ancient village on the opposite side of the swamp is looming, and purple haze like tassels floats on the extreme edge of the light blue sky.Vultures hover over the fishing nets, cormorants sit silently on top of bamboos, and motionless shadows are reflected in the calm water.The fragrance of algae diffuses in the wet wind.

The river of existence all around flows into numerous tributaries day and night. This natural river is soluble in water and the rich things of thousands of generations of creatures are constantly surging above the rise and fall of human history. At the end of the vigorous spring, today I sink wearily into the depths of existence, and the waves murmur with the gentle rhythm of my blood. Let my consciousness float on its light and shadow, to the sea of ​​death without books, disputes and troubles. The summer rain that has not received the invitation falls on the field, darkening the tops of the palm trees, and injecting noise into the clear water in the embankment.

I long for the rain to fall on my heart. I have been abroad for a few days, the language of the foreign land is difficult to communicate with the language of my heart, and the initiation ceremony was first held in the heart palace. Life is feeble without the gray flow of rain clouds. Just as the time for trees to give fruit increases year by year, leaving imprints on the circular annual rings, the joy of annual rain is in my bone marrow, adding the wealth of taste; on the canvas of life.Swipe with heavy colors; the gesture of the artist's fingers is engraved on the annual rings of my soul.

When I sit at the silent window, the hours of idleness creep away, and a little gift remains on my altar. In the storehouse of life's secret treasures gather the treasures of forgotten ages. My body, drawn with a variety of magical brushes, is full of all the savings of wisdom, and in which era is it completely exposed under the subtle eyes? It looks at the penance of "insight" and calls like the fading evening star and the bottom of the morning: "Come, reveal yourself!" The day it reveals its truth, I see myself in my radiance, as when love awakens in my heart, when sorrow is woven into a necklace, when poverty is glorified, when death does not mean the end, the mistress is true Get to know yourself better and show yourself truly.

I have arrived at the pier at dusk where the day ends. On the way, my cup is full of works. I thought these were permanent road money, and I exchanged unbearable pain for its value. In the market of human language, I have collected widely, and some of my savings have been dedicated to the cause of love. In the end, I forgot what I had achieved, and collecting for no reason became a blind habit. Sacrifice the rest of the slices to fill the porous empty pockets. Today I found that the road has been completed, and the road money has been exhausted. Holding the candle lit by the side of the reunion couch, I extinguished it today, threw it into the flowing water, and let it drift.

The lonely evening star shines in the sky, facing the dawn, stepping into the twilight, the last flute sound I played fades away in the remaining night. What will happen next?The life where the lights go out and the music stops, was once like all things now, full of reality, I know, you will completely forget this, and it is a good thing to forget. But one day before that, in front of this "emptiness", present a spring flower that I loved! On my way back and forth in the past, the branches and leaves were scattered, and the light and shadow intertwined. Among the branches and leaves of the mango tree and jackfruit tree, the trembling sound of the rain was revived. May you choose this ordinary scene from Vientiane, and paint it on the canvas of your remembrance in the dusk of dusk. No need to do more.I am the lover of light, I play the flute on life's stage; I will not leave behind a lonely shadow haunted by long sighs. Travelers on the road of the afterglow of the setting sun, put all your hopes in the hands of dust, and don't offer your offerings before the altar of dust's cold talk. Bring back the food basket, where the hunger is watching, the visitor sits at the door, the clock of the hour echoes the rhyme of the flow of life and the flow of time.