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Beyond the Cloud

Oil on canvans|80x60cm


Beyond the Cloud|Oil on canvans|80x60cm|2014|SHILI

Chasing the endlessworld before the end of life (4 poems)


–Love is unknown from where  but deep


About warmth


The body is so pure, like a sacred coronation

After the pain, beyond the swaying light, is exceedingly fascinating and charming

Brighter than the sunshine, I believe

Waste a lifetime with you-to be in love

Short songs and lilting flutes, standing higher and farther up in the sky

We choose a more beautiful posture, guarding the initial warmth


It is like a songall the year round, flying to the place where the colorful blooming blossoms, countless butterflies

By the lake that is wrinkled by the spring breeze, I easily

See the infinite light and the happiness as fine as sunset

Flowing naturally like a mountain stream, waiting for heaven and earth to get old

How do we keep the initial heart?

Not humble, not arrogant

Like a distant mountain, the world has changed. But it still

stands there.


About the cold


Everyone dies, but

Not everyone ever really lives

The pain, what does it take to stop

As a knife by nature

Drinking blood and singing, dwelling by the river Yi Shui

The fury in the body, receiving the oracle of God

Until the end of life

You are a sharpening stone that makes

me become sharp as a knife


About the cold


Everybody dies, but

Not everyone really lives

It hurts, how to stop it

Just like the nature of a knife

Drinking blood and singing, living by the Yishui River

The anger in the body, receiving the decree of God

until the end of life

You are a whetstone, let me

Become unparalleled sharp as sword




You are as white and flawlessas a lotus, lying in the water

Carrying love, warmer than the sun

I sleep inside your body, quiet as a baby

Walking between heaven and earth, no longer afraid


The Return of the Great Sage


There is pain lurking in the body

Igniting the desire of obsession

Hopelessness inside, love in dreams

Being together is short, while pain is durable

Flowers bloom, light and dark in the mountain of flowers and fruits

Passing the abode of the soul, stirring

You flap your wings, but no more proud

Than birds, startling the spring

Across the sky

In the palm of my hand, waiting for

Five hundred years later

an encounter.



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