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Jia Dao



The door is three feet tall, and pushing and knocking is the language of the Buddha. Jia Dao sees the night as a coffin, pushes and knocks, hiding behind, peering into the gleam of the earthly door, and looking for the origin.The birds in the trees around have the spirit of immortality, which is described in the limit.At the turning point, he coheres waste tombs together again and again, by “Write To Li Ning’s Secluded Residence”, and makes rebirth of death by borrowing words and phrases. There is no backrest, and only a closed door blocking the raised emotions again and again.
Only the blade of the moonlight is picking the bones. Black is black and white is white.
The sound of knocking on the door turned into a root word and plunged into history. The night is undulating in the vastness, and the wind slowly moved into a melody between the waist and the hips. This ancient rhythm opened the door in the rain, and knocked on the door to catch the birdsong. The two words of pushing and knocking are covered with Buddhist language, and are drawn into the picture scroll. When it is turned on, it faces the sky.

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Translated by Sophy Chen

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Submitted by HeartButterfly on July 22, 2021

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    "Jia Dao" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2022. Web. 20 Jan. 2022. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/105499/jia-dao>.

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