The city wall is like a string of Buddha beads
Hanging on the neck of the bell tower
The sun occasionally sticks out its fingers
Every time it twirls and prays
There is a dynasty
Coming out of the low doorway
The terra cotta warriors in armor stand still for thousands of years
All the year round
I am busy pecking at words
Lower my head and bend before life
Cold winds have plucked all the flight feathers
Covering the bleeding wound
Turning over
I fall from one dream into another
Life is like a pile of well-stacked building blocks
Which must be leveled and started all over again
3山村
一声呼唤
从炊烟里长出
马蹄缠起晚归的小路
如果没有月亮
萤火虫就打着灯笼
满山遍野地
寻找
A Mountain Village
By WEI Yanlie
A call
Renders the cooking smoke
generating a path wrapped up by horse hooves for late returning
Which
If there is no moon
Fireflies are seeking
all over mountains and fields
by light of lanterns
Night crawls upon the hair ends
Whitening a mirror on the wall
Solitude has raised the altitude of brows
Withered wild weeds are too impotent to conceal
Signs of decay
Out of imperceptibility
There are always some hints
Pointing to death
Propping up the fallen figure Staggering through red lights all the way
The rain soaking a few snores
Slipped from a balcony facing the street
Were they a man and a woman
The story would be concocted vivid and bizarre
But they are two men
Talking about everything without any reserve
A windlass
Hoists a turbid memory
With ropes fastening miserable life tight and taut
No one can tell in which winter
A woman left cold stove and cauldron behind
And jumped into the well to fill the hole
A millstone seals
A mouth
Like an urgent document stamped with official seals
Being gradually transmitted along the hidden mountain paths
To every tree
Literally
Overnight
All over hills and dales are blazing red.
Ascending the Great Wild Goose Pagoda
By WEI Yanlie
It is the pagoda that grows taller section by section
While my height remains at 1.75 meters
Using up all his physical strength
The climber
will ultimately have to leave the distant vista behind
and return honestly to the ground
Pinching in hand
An invalid ticket
The Past Events
Reflections on reading Yang Jun's History of Moving to the West
By WEI Yanlie
The keyboard has knocked open the tightly-locked wooden door,
The Past dressed in a coarse garment,
Following a few coughs,
Walks out of the old house.
Picking it up bit by bit,
Fragmentary memories
Have folded up yellowing shadows
Into a bound volume.
The arm of the tower crane that stretches longer and longer
Crosses the black land
Memories of poverty
Can't fill up an old man's
Appetite that grows increasingly bigger
A piece of chalk
In a palm-sized reserved plot
Reaps what it sows