Imprisoned

When the eaves were frozen over with rime ice,

He played his cello through starry nights to the dancing mice.

Regards it more vulgar to satisfy their worldly hunger with rice,

Than to seduce gamblers with a dirty dice.


On left little finger wears a ring carved out of jade,

Which hand hibernated in a white glove for a decade.

Some guess his soul once had to through despair wade,

Goaded by a stony-heart or a sharp blade.


Before spring rain covered his window with sapphire drops,

The dreamy waltz of his fingers on piano keys never stops.

He said unique prayers; he listens to classical, jazz but no pops,

He occasionally visits galleries, museums and antique shops.


A stern woman brings him twice a month Pu'er tea,

From across an ocean of surging leaves underneath a gingko tree.

She holds the rusty key to his gate yet unable to set him free,

For his solitude is an irrevocable decree.


No grief, no surprise, no insanity, no fears.

No controversy, no sermon, no throb of pain, no tears.

At both superstition and corporal pleasures he sneers,

And squandered without mercy his black and white years.


创作灵感：孤独，在现代社会，似乎是一种沿着每个人骨髓生长的痕迹，虽然它对每个人的内涵和外延不尽相同。它是月下的吟啸、是弦间的缄默、是樽前落泪、山巅放歌，是这首诗中男主人公洁癖一般从不脱下的白手套，也是稔熟茶香却不懂人情、在银杏落叶迷航一生中的女主角那一壶未沾凡间烟火的普洱茶。或许人并不喜欢画地为牢，只是不知道孤独的影子所能覆盖的领域是如此之宽，以致自己在不知不觉的清高和疏离中就成为了一个无名的囚徒。

Pu'er tea......好东西.........