Reflected Light on Snow and the Color of Heaven

1

This is the door’s reproduction processIt’s the traces of ancient times washed clean by waterThis is a door—this is a doorYet we can never seethe metal gasps hidden behindThis is a mask cast by fireUnder the sun’s illuminationit is pervaded with golden wearinessThis is a door—this is a doorIts texture is like that of the yellow earthNo matter who reaches out their hands to touch itin the eternal stillness of the plateauthere will be no sobs, only enduring silence

2

Those are the eagle spirit’s eyesNo, perhaps only God can see from high abovethe gorgeous symbols formed on this golden wildernessafter countless lives become abstractThe distant migration has already ceasedThe calf is listening to the songs of tiny grassesAn ant is slowly movingpulling a strand of light from the heavens

3

Blue, more bluein this nameless countrysideThis is a color covered over and overThis blue blood, ceaselessly flowingand finally congealing into the will to liveThis is pure sapphire, melted by frozen burningThis is blue sleep—the truest storm seenin the unfathomable depths of the unconscious

4

The wind brushes past—in the gray autumn skyUndoubtedly this wind blows here from a distant placeOnly when the wind brushes pastis time sorrowfully slipping past this kind of seasonWhen the wild goose flies over the village rooftopsit leaves behind an endless wailingPerhaps only in this moment will someone see with his own  eyeson that side of the prayer flag—life begins to be bornon the other side—death’s shadow has already come

5

Your snow mountain’s summitis merely a symbol, it doesn’t necessarily actually existbecause the glaciers of snow mountains in realityhave already begun to irreversibly disappearWho can bear to write a eulogy for snowy mountains?Why do we so seldom hear mankind’s remorse?The snow mountain’s summit reflects a gloomy radianceIt floats forever at the border of dreams and memoriesIf only your creation were eternalbecause you use an abstract brushto illustrate and record a sorrowful tale

6

That’s the frantic peonyrippling in the most fertile part of the earthThat’s the inverted reflection of clouds writing the words of water  on the purple territorypassing through the desert city, waiting for news of the riverWithout a choice, shimmering autumn leavesshake the arrows of the running antelopeThe yaks in gales, fossils from the Ice AgeOnly when the ritual implements are grasped tightlywill the diviner’s stick beat the leather drum of prophecies

7

You tell me if you look longinto the plateau’s night sky,you’ll find that your physical body and your thoughts begin  to separateAll mountains, trees, and rocks will be limpid as silverThe sky’s color is changing unpredictably, concealing hintsSometimes you hear distant thunderWe don’t know what the final judgment isBut looking into a night sky like thiswe believethe force that created this world does indeed existand the final judgment has already begun

8

Who has seen the color of heaven?This is the color of heaven I’ve seen, you say with certaintyFirst, I believe heaven will have a colorand that this color will be warmI believe this color has been felt before by people during their livesI don’t believe this color has been breathed by us beforeWithout a doubt, it’s part of our soulsBecause of you, I began to imagine the color of heavenlike a child adept at imaginingOften when I close my eyes, I’m filled with gratitude and happinessSometimes I’ll unwittingly burst into tears