Flowers bloom on the other shore, yet the shore truly does not exist; the soul falls into the River of Forgetfulness, but the river still flows. Drunkenly unaware of the vast misty waves, vaguely feeling the cold lights in dreams. Flowers and leaves have not met for a thousand years; fate ends and begins, dancing lightly through the changes. Flowers do not understand speech, only nod; Buddha ferries my heart, Buddha sighs in emptiness.
True tranquility comes from within. A restless heart, whether secluded in deep mountains or hidden in ancient temples, cannot find peace. Your heart is best not a conspicuous branch, but a silent root, deeply buried underground, untempted by the worldly affairs, seeking only simplicity and richness in itself.
Spring has a hundred flowers and autumn has the moon; summer has cool winds and winter has snow. If no trivial matters hang on your mind, that is the best season in human life.
Life is fleeting like a dream, dust drifts as emptiness, joys are few, winding a hundred times. I am a devout and humble pilgrim on your path, passing through your eyes, my whole life is completed in that moment.
A glamorous life, fading through a season. Memories exist, tangling together the lingering. Smiles disappear, leaving thousands of loneliness. Strings, thinking of youthful years. Those years, suddenly like a dream. Also like flowing water, gone and never returning. No tears in parting, no words to lament final sorrow.||
Only after getting drunk do you know wine is strong; only after loving do you know affection is deep. You cannot be my poem, just as I cannot be your dream.
A bit of cinnabar, two pieces of silk cloth, three or five wild geese, scattering blossoms through the seasons.Six-string green ripples, seven stars hang in the sky, Eight or nine parts of longing, lazy is the ten-year pipa.
Life is like tea, face it calmly. Right or wrong is innocent, the cause comes from past lives. Recognizing clearly, letting go is wisdom. Unable to see through, a dream leaves no trace. Flowers fall without rain, fluff flies without wind. One should observe the nature of the Dharma realm; all is created by the mind. You come to the world, please reside peacefully in the world.
Having experienced the bitter pain of parting across the world, Without saying of return, the fallen flowers are like this. Under the flowers, we look at each other in silence, Green windows in spring are as silent as the sky. Waiting to express longing under the lamp, A thread of new delight, old hate in thousands of strands. The most is that people cannot be held in the world, The rosy face leaves the mirror, flowers leave the tree.
The zither meets the eyes, past events rise and fall, Dyeing the eyes red. The wind has risen, zither dust flying, Enchanting the way ahead. Black hair messy, thoughts circulating, Bringing clarity to the beloved. Slender figure like a dream, beautiful eyes full of affection, Smiling dimples intoxicating, delicate hands dancing lightly. Soul entwined… person mad… Strings break… dream wakes… Floating dust falls to the ground. The zither remains, the tune has ended, red color fades and fragrance breaks, Leaning against the flower tomb, alone and drunk.
