Looking back on the past half-life, a pot of Yacha is a tribute to the passing of time
China Yacha Culture Media Public Welfare Platform News: Staying in the window of time, watching The dusk is getting thicker, smiling at the neon lights, watching the shadows of the late flowers, watching the street lights clear, half a lifetime of wind and rain and half a lifetime of cold, a pot of elegant tea to celebrate the passing years, looking back on the past half a lifetime, seven parts bitter and three parts sweet, outside the eyes, it seems that all the shouts are boiling with anticipation, and all the applause is looking forward to igniting , all the shadows are whipping away, and what boils at the end of life is not necessarily the call, and what is ignited is not necessarily applause, it may be tears, just as it is your youth that whips the world. The flow of time, it is not appropriate to say too much, just lower your eyebrows and turn your head, it is the past.
Half life has been windy and rainy and half life has been cold. A pot of elegant tea can make people nostalgic in every way. What is unforgettable is the past. I don’t know how many people hope to use a piece of the past to weave a picture of the present and the future. I can't break free from the web, and I feel content with being immersed in it. I don't know how many people carry a piece of the past with them and spend their lives without hearing anything about the world. I don't even know how many people use the past to interpret their mediocre future. Everyone in the world has fallen in love with it. The past, the past pain, the past addiction, the past glory, and the past have become the past, so why struggle and madness, let the past become the poem of that time, fixed in the window of memory, we are destined to go far in the future.
Life is full of poetry and distance, but we have to pack the poems in our bags and go to the distance. Half of our lives are windy and rainy, and half of our lives are cold. A pot of elegant tea is a tribute to the passing of time. Looking back on the past half a lifetime, I feel seven parts bitter and three parts sweet. I am In this way, inadvertently, under a half-opened window, I made friends with a simple wooden table, sipping a pot of modern tea, and flipping through this collection of birds with my hands. The delicate words pulled my soul. I couldn't help but lean down to read and listen to the words. Breathing, if you shed tears because you missed the sun, you will miss the stars. Suddenly, I seemed to realize something. Thinking about myself, I don’t know how many suns I missed with every move of my hands and feet, but I don’t need to be sad or hesitant.
As Rabindranath Tagore said, we who worry about missing the sun will also miss the stars. The water looks at the bridge, the bridge looks at the road, the sunset jumps into the twilight, I look at a piece of water, spreading in circles, clearing the turbulent waves in my heart, the moonlight is clear, floating The pain of flying is like petals, wandering in the season of the soul. I choose to forget and miss a love, return you to the distance, hide the inner rivers and lakes in the long-lost poems, the encounter solidifies the passion of life, transforms into an encounter with the most beautiful life, and no longer talks about the waves of the past. The waves make the green leaves of the soul have oracles in their eyes after a rain. Everything has already been destined. The streams should be as clear as the streams, and the ocean should be as broad as the ocean. You and I should also interpret the warmth, coldness and longing on our own tracks. After drinking the same life, we should embrace the lightness of the soul in flight.
Half my life has been windy and rainy, half my life cold, a pot of elegant tea is a tribute to the passing years, maybe silent or reluctant to leave, the pain is wrapped up in the imaginary gathering, at this time I am willing to let go of the vows I carry with me, and let the original passion fall into the blue sky before my eyes. The waves are vast, and life is like a pot of brewed elegant tea, which changes from strong to light, from light to tasteless, and then completely disappears, leaving only tea stains in the cup. The tea stains are washed away, and the teapot is white and fresh as before, as if the tea has no trace at all. existed, Shixian 's birth was romantic, and his passing was also artistic. Mr. Yu Guangzhong's poem describing Shixian's death was also about how cirrhosis of the liver could kill him, but in the hearts of the world, the romantic death of fishing for the moon is more admired.
In a quiet night, in a small boat, the immortal is lying drunk Among them, the death of catching the moon, the death of an immortal must be so mysterious, and romance is worthy of your talent. Perhaps the shadow of the moon in the bottle is the best place for you to return. The noise of riding on the road is not as good as yours a thousand years later. The crystal quatrain taps my forehead, and a local flick stirs up the echo. So far, the immortal has returned, and the bamboo basket is in vain. You have been here and never been. We took root, sprouted and blossomed, climbed close, lingered and broke. Everything we separated and maintained has evaporated when we left, just like with old friends, from strangers to melting into each other, from growing together and returning to strangers again. The heart leaves the body and is no longer there. If this past event is amnesia, it is really a blank. Fortunately, in this boring life, there is such a thing as memory, which is a proof of the existence of yesterday. (Wang Shibin)
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-