Shaojun Li Poems

Talking about our wishes under the tree
You say, you will write a biography of mountains and waters.

But I love only to take pictures of clouds
...

Nightfall, time for dinner.
I go out to the woods, calling my old father.
The night is seeping through little by little, the darkness diffuses
like ink on rice paper.
...

The tranquility of this small place is in its bone:
the spring water runs in the river, flagstones paved along the alley,
vines and weeds climb the fence, and a bird hops on the wall.
All have tranquility in them.
...

A few wooden cabins.
A small pool of light.
Small as an ant, I'm stranded in this nameless way station
in the depths of Hulunbeier grasslands,
...

In the desert,
a blade of grass is a miracle, so is a drop of rain.
God's sign is easily shown in all small things.
...

Cloud gifts the mountain a white cap.
Trails and vines intertwine, gripped by flowers and weeds.
A stream splashes down the cliff, then rushes to the ocean.
Spring breeze does all the idle things,
...

Spring comes.
Willow catkins fly. Everyone is stirred.

In the rain, a bud cries out loud.
...

Carrying little lanterns, fireflies
float under the empty night sky,
drift in the dark and boundless field.
...

All our effort is nothing
to a burst of spring wind which urges flowers to bloom,
inspires birds to sing, forces all things to open,
and makes love shine.
...

When the country is big, there's room for convolution
When you are small, it can be grabbed in the palm to enjoy bit by bit
As soft and warm as jade
He's maneuvering between you and the country
...