On Every Blank Page I Create a New World “To fall in love is to create a religion that has a fallible god.” ---Jorge Luis Borges There will always be a lonesome man and a heart-broken woman across the ocean called Destiny building a bridge with stars & tears The love letters they write to each other are filled with fecund flowers and dreams from sleepless nights. Love grows no matter how hard the wind blows Every new world I create on a blank page tells the same old story, beautiful and wet One never get tired of listening to her song I never get tired of retelling his secrets Time after time, I become sensitive and nurtured I can hear her footsteps, bare feet on the clouds I can smell her sweet body blossoming though dark mountains keep us apart On every blank page I create a new “you” elegantly dressed, sometimes nude you often shy away from my impatient request then you get closer holding up your breasts We drink words from each other’s mouth We make love on the unlit stairs while angels holding up the lamp. Shhhhh! Be quiet buddy, we can manage without God! Poetry and Love. Life and Death. God or no God. What’s the difference does it make? >>> :: z.z. 2005 [painting by Chagall, "At the Gate of Heaven"] 影云 ; 一纸（我创写）一世界 总有一个孤独的男人 与一个心碎的女人 穿越命运之海 以泪与星辰筑桥 他们的情书 满是温情的花朵 与无眠夜里的梦。爱 依然成长，无论风多猛烈 一纸（我创写）一世界 旧事新述，美而柔湿 没有人厌倦她的歌声 我从未厌倦重温他的秘密 时光流逝，我开始敏感而知觉 可以听到她赤脚在云端的脚步 闻到她身体甜美的绽放 尽管黝黑的山将我们分隔 每一页白纸上，我创造一个新的“你” 温文尔雅，有时光裸著身 在我按捺不住的渴慕里羞涩逃离 然后又捧胸近趋 我们从彼此的嘴里尽饮文字 在黯淡的阶梯上欢爱 天使为我们掌灯。嘘！ 安静吧，朋友，没有上帝，我们照样能行 诗与爱。 生与死。 上帝是否。 又有什么区别？ of course, it's human passion, but every culture brings it out in different way . . . let me think of what Spanish passion really means:) mmmmm, maybe something dark but romantic (oops, i have said so many times - - - but i love that ) - - - something natural - - - hard to say. It’s a feeling. I can relatively easily tell a poem written in Spanish from an one in English - - - the temperament is different the first stanza makes me feel this poem is different from other of your poems, "lonesome", "broken-heart", "destiny", "tears" - - - these words seem against "happiness" of Love, but indeed they compliment Love with the latter. Admitting the “painful” side of love (of course, my understanding . . . ) makes love more humane Of course, this poem is not about the pain in love; it’s the voice of love itself, standing still faithful, but not to d.o.g . . . like the quote states . . . chagall’s painting is poetic . . . always fits 作舟 thanx, y.y.!!!! very thoughtful reading/interpretation!!! yeah, i am not sure why this piece is a little different from other poems.....you are absolutely right on this!!!! you are a sharp reader :) love it too big a subject.... it requires all our being.....physical and spiritual .....in order to taste all its flavor.... Miller once said, "give me love and its suffering''..... 知凡 : 总有一个孤独的男人 和一个心碎的女人 穿越命运的海洋 用星光和泪滴筑一座桥 茂盛的花朵和无眠之夜的梦 写进他们给相互的情书 无论风怎样吹 爱滋长 每一页空白的纸上我写下一个新的世界 诉说同样古老的故事，美丽湿润 没有人厌倦倾听她的歌声 我从未厌倦重述他的秘密 时光流逝，我变得敏感丰富 我能听到她的脚步，赤足在云端 我能闻到她甜美的身体在绽放 尽管黑暗的山脉将我们隔离 每一页空白的纸上我写下一个新的“你” 优雅温文，有时赤裸着身体 你常在我热切的渴盼里羞涩逃离 然后你托着你的胸房 慢慢靠近 我们从相互的嘴中畅饮文字 在暗淡的阶梯上欢爱交融 天使为我们掌灯，嘘！ 安静，伙伴，没有上帝我们也可以 诗和爱 生与死 上帝存否 有什么差别 秋菱 ; 一张白纸，一个故事 世间总有些孤独的男人 还有些心碎的女人 想用星星和泪水 搭建跨越命运之海的桥梁 往来的情书 满是怒放的鲜花 和无眠之夜的美梦。爱 生长着，不管风吹得有多猛 我在每张白纸上写下的新篇章 都述说同一个古老的故事，那么美丽，那么湿濡 从未有人厌倦听她唱歌 我也不倦地重复他的秘密 日成年，年成岁月，习惯渐成敏感 我听得见她赤脚在云端漫步 我闻得到她身体散发的芬芳 那怕深山将我们远隔两旁 一张张白纸上，我描绘一个个全新的‘你’ 有时装束高雅，有时一丝不挂 你总是羞涩地躲避我的渴欲 又凝胸向我靠拢 我们从亲吻中尽饮呢喃 我们在黑暗的阶梯上交欢 天使为我们掌灯。嘘~~！ 悄点声，夥计，没有上帝，我们也能爱 诗和爱 生与死 是否有上帝 有何干系？ ZZ：幸亏想起复古的这句，终于完成后半段。希望没有太迟，等着看你的啦：))