Exile thoughts - reading "Flying Birds"

The eternal time has stained the moss between the stone crevices. The millennium has eclipsed the old trees at the door, and the glory of a hundred years is silent in the dance of his pen. I have never seen a writer who can quickly and rhythmically express a truth, some thoughts, and something that I thought was abstract and unspeakable in just a few words, until a quiet afternoon. I accidentally smashed the dust on the yellowish paper that buried the silent soul of the past, and quietly started a silent conversation.

"If you shed tears because you lost the sun, then you will lose the stars." He told me that the radiance of the stars is weak and a medal for strength. It is not worth losing again for things that have already been lost.

"You can't see yourself. What you see is only your shadow." He revealed me, knowing his own difficulties, and recognizing himself is even more difficult. The shadow may be just a reflection in the water, just the opposite of itself.

I read the next poem with the expectation, and then touched the last word with my gaze. This quiet mood continued until I saw the poem with only 14 words. In an instant, in my heart. It is full of surprises and incitement.

Once a friend asked me whether it was a good month or a good one. I thought for a long time but couldn't answer it. I know this afternoon with this little poem. Tagore said: "The bird is willing to be a cloud, and the cloud is willing to be a bird." The tentacles of this shore and the illusory ethereality of the other shore are both beautiful. Maybe you envy others on this shore while others are watching from the other side. You on this shore, like birds and clouds, just like flowers and moons, the beauty created by them has different styles at different angles. Because there is no quantitative, it is incomparable. Later, I finally got the answer to the question: "The fog looks like a flower in the fog, and the moon looks like a flower in the water." Tagore hides the answer I don't know how to express it in the book page of "Flying Birds", giving me a sudden realization. Revelation and surprise.

In reading, I was amazed at the eclecticism of his imagination and thinking. He seems to be a wild horse running on the grassland, no jealousy, no bondage. The whistling of the wind in the ear gave him an inspiration, and the jump in front of the mountain gave him a visual feast. His brush strokes are interspersed in any corner of the world: silent fish in the water, noisy beasts on the ground, flying birds and complex humans in the air. He spoke freely and unscrupulously about his own soul, and seemed to be disdainful of the world while worshipping the world. His clean and magnificent poetry is pure and broad in his world, and there are secrets that are unpredictable in the universe.

Without the slightest mindset, his words are exiled in nature.

Exile thoughts may be a new starting point for me to set sail.

The second day of the 50th Middle School of Hefei City, Hefei District, Hefei, Anhui Province: Zhao Xiaodi