（Excerpted from the series of ‘Chimes from Within’）
Written by Xiyang Dong；Translated by Xiaoyuan Yin
Straining Curtain of the Mist
My nose deviated from the mist
While the giant rivers swirled and mountains shone with magnificence. Sinuous roads
never led me back home. I have a thirst for shadows of
hypnotized mountain peaks, in the basin of
clouds; for a wine glass, symbolic
and for a heart lying dormant in bed as well
I long for a dance, as an avatar of all miseries or joys
Out there, roaming melodies climbed over the rampart
of this moon-lit city. The rippling light
In my eyes is but a castaway flame
Straying from its stove. If the pains are erased, pages of the days would be left
With freshly-dyed patterns, somewhat similar to the stretching hands of my clock
on every morning
The world is billowing, with my house remains in idyllic serenity
Without chirps or chirrups
I worried about hands of my clock, which pointed uncertainly at a branch
Growing out of old times. There are faces running loose in the wind
breaching the paper-bag of Time
A river called Changjiang comes off its rain, and walks onto my platform
Which is flooded with moonlight, and shadows
from Tang and Song Dynasty. So many people are seeking
water source still and imperishable, in the direction
I have pointed to. They are following your trail, into the depth
of flowers in full bloom. The chimes stemming from the earth
scramble along the vines of thunders, and lever the afternoon
with its echoes. There is a path winding up
To the sun-bathed peaks, where I will look down at the ephemeral world
All wrapped inside the honey jar of Time
I wait for a butterfly, to start the chimes from within
The electric utility poles are warm now, unlike on most of the other days
When they are icy. I can see its face
swelling in the autumn wind, as if they were persimmons on a balance beam
Ready to dive
Between figures of two trees, streams of people flow past it
like melt cheese. They are speaking words
so provocative. It is not
out of hunger, that we slide our palms
across its smooth and sedate skin. It just gives away
all the sunshine and warmth it has ever gathered
to strangers- crowds of nameless
strangers, who scatter like falling leaves,
frowning, and looking up at the sky