Book Synopsis
Book Tags
Donation Rankings
Comment
0 Comments
You May Also Like
墨書 Inktalez
I listened to my grandfather's words, feeling even more curious and yearning for poetry. I hoped to understand more ancient poems like him, to feel the emotions and lives of those who came before us.
“Xiaowen, close your eyes now and imagine yourself stepping into the world of poetry,” he said. His voice was deep and slow, as if coming from a great distance. “Imagine you are that sleepless Hermit on a night like this, experiencing every detail of autumn.”
I closed my eyes and began to imagine. In an instant, I felt as if I had traveled back in time to the ancient past, arriving at a secluded mountain. The moon rose slowly between the pine trees, illuminating the entire forest. I stood quietly beneath the trees, taking in everything around me, feeling the tranquility and beauty of the night.
Is this the scenery that poets see? I couldn't help but marvel. The pine trees stood like mighty warriors against the night sky, guarding this forest. The moonlight spilled over the trees, casting a silver glow upon them. Everything was as beautiful as a painting. But what amazed me even more was that the artist of this painting was nature itself.
I walked slowly, sensing every change of autumn around me. The autumn breeze carried a hint of chill, and fallen leaves blanketed the ground like a long carpet. I heard the sound of clear springs flowing over stones, like a wonderful melody. Following the sound, I approached and saw a stream of crystal-clear water flowing over rocks, sparkling under the sunlight.
This spring seemed like nature's tears, silently cleansing every corner of my soul. It nourished my spirit, bringing hope and vitality. Suddenly, I understood what the poet meant by “The pine cones fall in the empty mountain; Should Not Be Asleep.” He too was experiencing every change of autumn, feeling the life force and mystery of nature.
"Grandpa, I think I understand a little bit," I opened my eyes and said to him.
"Really? Tell me more," Grandpa smiled at me.
"The scenery in this poem is beautiful—the moon, the pine trees, the clear spring—they all make me feel the beauty and mystery of nature," I said. "But these scenes don't just appear randomly; they are the result of the poet's heartfelt perception."
"Oh?" Grandpa's eyes sparkled with interest. "Go on."
"The poet saw the moon among the pine trees and the clear spring flowing over the stones. These are the most subtle and wonderful aspects of nature," I continued. "Yet we often overlook these beautiful sights in our daily lives."
"Therefore, this poem contains not only beautiful scenery but also the poet's awe and admiration for nature," Grandpa nodded with a smile.
"Yes," I replied. "When I read this poem, I felt as if I had arrived at that empty mountain, experiencing every change of autumn."
"Xiaowen, where did you just go?" Grandpa asked with a smile.
I snapped back to reality and quickly explained, "I just closed my eyes and imagined myself walking into the world of the poem. I saw the moon rising through the pine trees and the clear spring flowing over the stones..."
Grandpa smiled gently and said, "Poetry can take us anywhere."
Those words deeply moved me.
Indeed, poetry can take us anywhere and allow us to see any scenery.
Suddenly, an idea struck me: I want to write my own poetry.
I want to write down everything I see and feel.
I want to capture this beautiful autumn night and express my longing for my friends.
I picked up a pen and began to ponder.
How should I write?
I remembered the times spent playing with my friends.
Back then, we ran around the village every day, our laughter filling the entire village.
But now, as autumn has arrived, we have all gone home and can no longer see each other. A faint sadness wells up in my heart. I want to write down this beautiful memory and express my longing for my friends in poetry. I hope these poems can transcend time and space, flying to my friends' sides. However, writing poetry is much more difficult than I imagined. I pondered deeply, searching for the right words, hoping to convey my feelings.
As time passed little by little, I finally finished my first poem. With great anticipation, I showed it to my grandfather, hoping to receive his approval and encouragement. He took the manuscript and read it carefully. A look of surprise appeared on his face, his brows slightly furrowed, as if he were moved by the emotions in the poem. After finishing the poem, my grandfather let out a long sigh of relief and exclaimed, "Xiaowen, you wrote very well!"
"Really?" Hearing my grandfather's encouragement made me feel extremely excited and proud.
"Of course! Your poem not only depicts nature but also reflects on friendship," my grandfather said with a smile. "I believe that as long as you continue to work hard, you will definitely become a poet."
"I will, Grandpa!" I nodded vigorously. I will keep striving to write more beautiful poems to express my love for nature and my longing for friends. Poetry can take us anywhere. As long as we feel and imagine with our hearts, we can discover the subtle and wonderful beauties in life.
Comment 0 Comment Count