致白千层

你只是一棵长在南方的树
在看你的第一眼，我开始爱你
像对待我的恋人一样心疼你的每一次叶落
我对你一无所知
管他呢
我已经不愿意知道的太多了
你生长千年，万年，又能如何呢
我毕竟没有遇到
我毕竟没有替你抵挡风月的腐蚀
你，毕竟一身的斑驳
　　
在我遇见你的时候
你满身岁月的痕迹
　　
你还没有找到要爱的人吗
如果没有
请你爱我吧
像我爱你一样
不爱你的身躯
只爱你千年以前，万年以后的精神
请你爱我吧
爱我那世人所不理解的灵魂
我的容颜会像你的躯干一样斑驳老死
让我期待那个时间的到来吧
脱下属世的躯体
这样
我的灵魂就会永恒的缠绕着你
陪你一起听风
哪怕我已经感觉不到风的存在
我想，我也一定会装作很幸福的样子
因为你在接受风的洗礼
　　
再让我陪你一起淋雨吧
哪怕我已经完全没有了对雨的记忆
我想我也一定会跪拜求雨季快来
因为我看到了你干渴的嘴唇
　　
遇见你时
我开始期待死亡
　　
只有死了
我的灵魂才可以高高的升起
这样，我就可以悄悄的和你耳语
　　
我相信
只有死了我的灵魂才可以不熄
只有死了，
我才可以永远和你纠缠在一起
　　
你同意了吗
那么，让我们一起祈求我快点老去吧
让我快点脱去属世的外衣
让我的躯体和你的落叶一起腐烂
让我的灵魂爱你
永无止熄

--月峦
　　

The Longest Journey

The longest journey,
Is the journey inwards.
Of him who has chosen his destiny,
Who has started upon his quest
For the source of his being
(Is there a source?)
He is still with you,
But without relation.
Isolated in your feeling
Like one condemned to death
Or one whom imminent farewell
Prematurely dedicates
To the loneliness which is the final lot of all.

Between you and him is distance,
Uncertainty --
Care.

He will see you withdrawing,
Further and further,
Hear your voices fading,
Fainter and fainter.

Markings, (58),
Dag Hammarskjold

面朝大海, 春暖花开

从明天起, 做一个幸福的人
喂马, 劈柴, 周游世界
从明天起, 关心粮食和蔬菜
我有一所房子, 面朝大海, 春暖花开

从明天起, 和每一个亲人通信
告诉他们我的幸福
那幸福的闪电告诉我的
我将告诉每一个人

给每一条河每一座山取一个温暖的名字
陌生人, 我也为你祝福
愿你有一个灿烂的前程
愿你有情人终成眷属
愿你在尘世获的幸福
我也愿面朝大海, 春暖花开

海子

Under Her Dark Veil

Under her dark veil she wrung her hands.
"Why are you so pale today?"
"Because I made him drink of stinging grief
Until he got drunk on it.
How can I forget? He staggered out,
His mouth twisted in agony.
I ran down not touching the bannister

And caught up with him at the gate.
I cried: 'A joke!
That's all it was. If you leave, I'll die.'
He smiled calmly and grimly
And told me: 'Don't stand here in the wind.' "

by Anna Akhmatova

A Poem For the End of the Century

When everything was fine

And the notion of sin had vanished
And the earth was ready
In universal peace
To consume and rejoice
Without creeds and utopias,

I, for unknown reasons,
Surrounded by the books
Of prophets and theologians,
Of philosophers, poets,
Searched for an answer,
Scowling, grimacing,
Waking up at night, muttering at dawn.

What oppressed me so much
Was a bit shameful.
Talking of it aloud
Would show neither tact nor prudence.
It might even seem an outrage
Against the health of mankind.

Alas, my memory
Does not want to leave me
And in it, live beings
Each with its own pain,
Each with its own dying,
Its own trepidation.

Why then innocence
On paradisal beaches,
An impeccable sky
Over the church of hygiene?
Is it because that
Was long ago?

To a saintly man
--So goes an Arab tale--
God said somewhat maliciously:
"Had I revealed to people
How great a sinner you are,
They could not praise you."

"And I," answered the pious one,
"Had I unveiled to them
How merciful you are,
They would not care for you."

To whom should I turn
With that affair so dark
Of pain and also guilt
In the structure of the world,
If either here below
Or over there on high
No power can abolish
The cause and the effect?

Don't think, don't remember
The death on the cross,
Though everyday He dies,
The only one, all-loving,
Who without any need
Consented and allowed
To exist all that is,
Including nails of torture.

Totally enigmatic.
Impossibly intricate.
Better to stop speech here.
This language is not for people.
Blessed be jubilation.
Vintages and harvests.
Even if not everyone
Is granted serenity.

Czeslaw Milosz

《江城子》 乙卯正月二十日夜記夢

十年生死兩茫茫，不思量，自難忘。千里孤墳，無處話淒涼。
縱使相逢應不識，塵滿面，鬢如霜。　　
夜來幽夢忽還鄉，小軒窗，正梳妝。
相顧無言，惟有淚千行。料得年年腸斷處，明月夜，短松岡。

蘇軾