Omaggio di Maria Teresa Liuzzo, (LE MUSE – ITALIA), al grande poeta della Repubblica Cinese
Maria Teresa Liuzzo
- Dance of the Soul
In the canopy of the heavens, a frozen stare hangs upon the limitless thread,
The millennia-old mountains in their tranquility, scrawl the tale of the passage of time with each step of the sojourner.
As if time’s silken strands slide through the eye of destiny’s needle,
Beside the coursing rivers, spirits stand sentinel beneath age-old arboreal sentinels.
In the veins of the sapient, the blossoming of flowers signifies nothing more than fleeting moments of dazzle.
Silently through a season, leaf upon leaf reel in the dance.
We emerge from a particle of dust and in the end, must dissolve into the wind
Star-shaped chessboard, dreams are steered by the illumination from the heart
In the expansive theatre of nature, fleeting visitors master the art of the mountain’s stoic face.
Signposting the serpentine path of rivers, between the solemnity of cosmos and desolation.
Staring at our own reflection, we are minuscule yet shimmer like cosmic bodies.
In the woodlands, the whispering wind mutters,
Striving to rouse the liberty of my designated soul.
This piece of wilderness, the primordial scriptures between heaven and earth.
In the twilight of the setting sun, the seeds of wisdom,
Are chronicled in every single step of the journey, archived like poems of our miracles.
Within my own being, the instantaneous breath of awakening has long been awaiting.
- The Night Lamp Remains
As night falls, silence descends, and the lamp stands alone.
In the darkness it seeks the embrace of solitude,
The copper glow of the lamp on the mountainside reflects the past, lingering like smoke,
The dim light of the lamp gently caresses the passage of time,
Each flicker, a stirring of the soul.
Through the shattered window it draws the moonlight in a myriad of colors,
Where the heart leads, let the years cut and reassemble,
The night traveler asks, where is the way home?
Steps are lost, the night echoes the search in vain,
The lamp remains silent, silently symbolizing the philosophy of life,
In the emptiness, the lamp is soft, humming,
In the silence we explore the beginning and the end of life,
History is being written, ink is flowing like a river,
Each ray of light, wavering,
Reflecting on itself over and over, wandering in the labyrinth of the night,
The night has seeped into the bones, the heart’s journey has returned to the sky,
The lamp perseveres, the weak light maintains the remaining power of the residual oil.
Contemplation with only a remnant of the night,
At dawn, guiding until the morning light washes away.
- The Tiger
In the silence of the night, the roar of a tiger echoes,
Beyond the Orchid Pavilion a thousand miles away.
Sad and desolate, a deep growl,
Deep and emotional, a haunting melody.
Under the guise of the rock garden, the breeze blows,
The lush and tender touch of a lover’s kiss.
In the depths of the night, the king of the forest,
Discloses a thousand tender emotions.
Moonlight and crystal-clear dew fill his heart,
He is walking silently through the land of no one.
In the deep forest, a man stands,
Embracing heaven and earth.
A roar opens up the mountains and the rivers,
Whispers of the loneliness of the night.
With a knife hidden in his eyebrows, his body is like a tiger.
He walks without fear of hardship and sits without question of the world.
His fighting spirit is a flicker in the night,
Stars in heaven fade in comparison.
He mourns his own fate,
But also feels proud and wild.
A Lone Goose’s Cry Pierces Thousands Of Mountains
The desert sky is shaken by a single shadow
The wings of a soaring bird cut through the clouds and the mountains overlap.
The peak spans ten thousand ridges, and my love for the sky is far more tragic than the sound of a single cry.
I fish alone under the lonely shadow of the cold river.
Not a single flying goose to be seen in the sky.
It still illuminates the continuation of the old road, reflecting the clarity of the river water.
Speechless flowers fly down from the sky with the wind.
Light cuts the lonely goose’s bitter love in shadow, but shines through the snow on thousands of mountains.
The sea of clouds is roiling, the world is confused.
With a broken wing, where can I live between the mountains and the sea?
Normal streets have disappeared.
The mountains in the distance are still full of beauty, hidden in the infinite space.
The wild goose is willing to look back, but it is not able to survive the fireworks of the world.
The peak is independent and adjacent to the sea.
The mountains remain the same and the sea remains the same.
Falling to the galaxy, home is in my heart
As long as the footsteps are firm and unyielding
Dr. TzeminItion Tsai viene dalla Repubblica Cinese (Taiwan). Oltre adessere professore di letteratura all’università, scrive poesie, romanzi e prosa. È inolt reredattore del testo accademico “Reading, Writing and Teaching”, redattore del periodico letterario “Contemporary dialogs” in Macedonia, vicepresidente della giuria internazionale del SAHITTO INTERNATIONAL AWARD in Bangladesh e editorialista del “Chinese Language Monthly” a Taiwan.
In unavasta gamma di creazioni letterarie, è particolarmente appassionato di storie o romanzi interessanti e scrive articoli o poesie sui sentimenti ispiratigli dalla natura e dagli esseri umani. Ha vinto numerosi premi lettera inazionali. Le sue opere letterari esono state antologizzate e pubblicate in libri, giornali e riviste in più di 55 paesi e sono state tradotte in più di 24 lingue.