Mourning Day

It drizzles thick and fast on the Mourning Day,

The mourner's heart is going to break on his way.

When asked for a tavern to drown his sad hours,

A cowboy points to a hamlet amid apricot flowers.

Journal entry in another language

[ 光 与 挽 歌 ]   

那年天贶节，赤泗街上比肩迭踵，晒书晒衣者络绎不绝。你匍匐于地摆弄几件缟白曲裾，嘴角浅浅璨华醉人摄魂。

彼时彼地，我遇见了你。

犹记得焱炎璧日亦因你失色。

那年上巳节，百姓皆祭祀高禖，祓禊修禊于河流上。你赤脚踩进东河一放曲水流觞，眼角流光溢彩，光华璀璨涤尽我心口万千阴霾。

彼时彼地，我记住了你。

犹记得你髻上别有一朵莽菜花。

那年花朝节，正值绿枝红葩的仲春，百姓结伴于郊外踏青赏红放花神灯。你剪了五色彩笺，取了红帛要将它结在花树上。那时我碰巧经过，你邀我帮你系上红绳。

彼时彼地，你我相识。

犹记得你那娇啭莺音与温软笑靥。

那年元宵节，鎏金大红门上粘有金沥粉的双喜字，房内红光映辉，喜气盈盈。你玉瓒螺髻，袭凤冠霞帔坐在悬挂大红缎绣龙凤双喜的床幔下，媚容微酡，含情娇睇。

彼时彼地，你我结为连理。

犹记得你两颊笑涡霞光耀如春华。

光阴荏苒，岁月蹉跎。

彼时我意气风发，豪情万迈，此时却已形容枯槁，耄耋衰老。

可我始终记得，你眼底萦绕的那抹——

光华。

那是不曾被遮掩，不曾被覆盖，不曾被磨去的，属于你的柔冶。

这年清明节，我霜眉雪发一如往年执绋来到你面前，重现五十年前那日光景。灵柩内是空的，牵索挽僮亦不在。可我，却在这里。

我步履蹒跚，踉踉跄跄的靠近你。九重穹下光辉顿绽。

你可听见，我为你咏唱的挽歌？

Room Number 411

Fall arrived early, The Dhillthyston Medical College is shrouded in sheer eeriness. It is only October, the fallen leaves cover the ground all over the school regardless of countless sweep. Flakes of withered leaves lament over their break away from the matrix, helplessly fall to the ground, immerse in the mud, then disintegrate and rot. Those Arborvitae trees that were once full of vigour appear decadent, as if they suddenly become old-aged. 

The night is long and dusky. Dark clouds scud across the sky like wild horses; and a sudden violent gust of spooky wind blows the shredded leaves in constant swirl.

Room number 441 in the girls dormitory.

Silence. Complete silence.

"Hah——"then a sudden light gasp utters out of Cloris's mouth. The girl wakes up from a strange dream. There she encounters a man, who dons a ghastly smile, and has eyes like the surface of a lake in a murky bleak night, ominously dark and alluring with a tinge of a peculiar green glow. 

She sits up, uncovers her furry blanket and steps towards the window to inhale some fresh air. The Autumn air already carries a bit of chilliness, which helps clear up her blurred mind from the dream.

Unable to go back to sleep, Cloris then sits down in front of her computer and presses the keys randomly. The bright screen light immediately emanates into her eyes. She blinks a few times.

An MSN message with a name she does not recognize suddenly pops up——

It's time...I'm behind you.

It must be one of those silly tricks that senseless people over the Internet plays, she thinks. But Cloris can't help feeling tensed up with an immediate ghostly chill, as though an icy finger has touched her spine. 

She turns her head and unexpectedly sees the face of the man in her dream, magnified to such extent that she thinks she can literally feel his breath. The air at this point is so rarefied, and Cloris almost feels suffocation with her heart pounding to the point of breaking out of her ribcage.

Then, for some reason, fear stops seizing her.

She suddenly feels that his eyes glow with the depth of universal love, casting off stardust as a diamond casts light and then smoulders like embers of a fire in a desert night. They have a certain undefinable green sparkle to them, so captivating as if Cloris has been enchanted by a spell.

She questions herself——

What's my name again?

But nothing matters anymore as the man reaches out to touch the tender edge of Cloris's hand. He leads her towards the balcony, and embraces her into his icy chest.

Then...he pulled her with him over the edge.

The Temple

Above the town, on the hill brow, the temple used to stand. My recollection of the place is till intact, and still very vivid, as if it was the event of yesterday. I recall that in the vicinity of the temple was nothing but bleakness and desolation. The area seemed uninhabited, with sapless leaves swirling in the violent gust of wind. The weather was not in its amiable mood, dark clouds scudded across the sky like wild horses. Between times were some frail birds quivering their wings, singing some rather dismal melody, and then flew across the horizon. I was carrying a huge mountain bag on the back and a camera in my hand. I trod each step warily and soon entered the courtyard of the temple which shrouded in murkiness from the view outside. However, once I stepped inside, something extraordinarily strange happened. The atmosphere in the courtyard was poles apart from the outside, as if a door had split it into two worlds. Wherever my gaze touched emanated gleams rendered with life, without even a slightest degree of gloominess, even though all the architectures were mainly in somewhat dull red and gold. I stand in front of the chimney-like structure made of bricks, where candles and joss paper were located to offer sacrifices to the gods and ancestors, and worshiped my gods. Along the two sides of the temple in the courtyard stand two erect Bodhi trees. They must have afforded many people an excellent shade to enjoy the cool. I than stepped inside and immediately scented a peculiar fragrance of Scandalwood almost ubiquitous in the temples. It was a woodiness smell with an acrid, almost vanilla-like sweetness to it. Meanwhile, the deep rhythematic tapping sound of a wooden fish(a Buddhist percussion instrument made of a hollow wooden block) along with the chanting of scriptures disrupted the silence. I found myself indulged completely, in this peaceful melody that touched the greatest depth of my heart. My eyes left from the monk who was tapping on the wooden fish, and fixated on the golden Buddha statue. I felt enlightened inside out, and currents of ardency and calmness lingered within my body and soul. I slowly closed my eyes, and be immersed in meditation.

Where the World Began-Lucid Dream World

        Her eyes are the surface of a lake in a murky bleak night, ominously dark with a tinge of haunted glow, and devoid of emotions yet emanating a disturbing eeriness. Her pallid lips curl up in a queer manner, a smile so ghastly like the one Satan dons. She stands in front of my bed, watching me, irritating me, and is on the verge of tearing me apart. It must be quite courageous of me to be somewhat composed when witnessing such a scene, for it is my very first time entering a lucid dream world. Lucid dream literally mean that one knows it is a dream and one can possibly manipulate imaginary experiences. Instilling the perception that I am in a dream and no matter how real things seem to be, I must not be plagued by fear which forces me to meet my Waterloo in this adventurous experience.

         The setting of this world altered instantly. It is no longer my room but a grand theatre, decorated with extravagant marble friezes, columns, and vast statuary. Above me hangs an elaborate chandelier; I stand at the stalls of the seating section separated from the stage by the proscenium arch, and am just about to sit down when the images switched over to a spooky dark forest.

         An immediate piercing wind gives me a ghostly chill, a feeling of icy fingers touching my spine. It is at dusk which demands daylight; the scattered light from the sun penetrating through the cloud and mist slowly diminishes, and the moon soon becomes the only light source. Trees look like shadows of the unknown wait for the right moment to jump out and grab me, and the leaves shiver in the breeze creating haunting whispers. My heart is pounding so hard that it feels as if it is going to break out of my ribcage when a sudden bloom of cold runs across my body.

         Simultaneously, I am pulled into a tunnel of colored lights racing at great speed and before I can pull myself together I am already lying on my bed. For a while I do not know if I am still in my dream world or am back to the reality. Then I feel a finger poking and prodding my face, I turn to see who it is and a sudden magnification of a women's face appears and affrights me to death. It transforms into a hideously shriveled mummy-like creature with bloody eyes and livid rings around them. I shriek in horror and wake up in cold sweats.

Trees in a Storm

I sit on the green field and raise my head to the azure sky.


 Above me I see a majestic willow tree’s long slender branch hanging and gently 
swaying under the delicate wind like a woman’s silken hair. 


Dark clouds scudding across the sky like wild horses. 


A violent gust of wind whips the willow tree back and forth. 


Shredded leaves fly chaotically through the air. 


As lightning rips across the sky, thunder rumbles and small droplets of water 
drips on the leaves. 


Soon, a burst of downpour hits hard on the willow tree. 


The storm is furious, but the stout willow tree still remains deeply rooted 
in the soil, standing erectly and firmly. 

He

      He was about five foot seven inch tall, average height for the time period. During his early years he was quite skinny, and only after 1806 did he became corpulent. When he was young, he appeared to be ailing with a yellowish pallid skin. Thus very few people in his childhood envisioned him becoming a mighty leader with supreme power that we cognize today. Some Historians believed that his success in politics and military should be credited to his inferiority complex, which allowed short people like him to possess an over-aggressive behavior to compensate for lack of height. He also had a specific trait, shown in many of his portrait-wearing a large bicorne hat and with his left hand posed on his waistcoat. His eyes were said to be gray or gray-blue, deep and sharp with an expression that emitted great ambition.