The Legend of Shangri-La
by Chen Qufei
Potala Palace
It rises where Lhasa meets the sky—
white walls, crimson crowns,
a snow lotus suspended in the firmament.
Ancient stone steps
bear the solemn weight of faith,
the palace of kings,
a sacred realm of Buddhas.
At dusk, the mountains blur into shadow,
and Potala flickers in the thinning light,
as prayer wheels turn—
their murmurs scattered in the wind,
echoes of devotion spun endlessly.
Inside the great hall,
the Buddha gazes with distant mercy.
Incense swirls in slow ascent,
carrying mortal wishes through the corridors of time,
flowing with the pilgrims’ silent tread.
So many kneel where the path begins—
their hearts the indigo sky,
boundless, waiting,
for the snow to fall and bless.
Shangri-La
The peaks unfold like lotus petals
reaching for the sky.
Snow veils all memory,
erasing the footprints of time.
This is the myth whispered in dreams,
a hidden haven
beyond the noise of the world.
Rivers shimmer in sunlit hush,
soft as sleep,
retelling ancient tales.
Time pauses in quiet valleys,
where every smile
gleams like dew at dawn.
Temple bells float across the stillness,
smoke of incense rising,
carrying prayers into the endless blue.
The wind brushes emerald meadows,
whispering secrets
never touched by sorrow.
Shangri-La—
not a place,
but a longing nestled in the soul,
a lighthouse in the far distance
calling the lost home.
It is a journey
beyond the confines of time,
rooted deep
in every heart that seeks peace.
The Vanished Horizon
Snow peaks—swords to the heavens,
their icy breath
the hush of centuries.
Old temples huddle in the mountains,
guarding secrets
too heavy for words.
Golden legends drift in the air:
Whose dreams?
Whose longing buried in silence?
Laughter rises from the highlands,
Tibetans dancing with earth and sky.
Each stone holds a tale,
each snowflake a mirror of the soul.
The lama’s wisdom flows like melting snow—
to live long is to be still.
Still as a pool,
inhaling the breath of the wild,
dwelling in harmony
with every living thing.
Beyond the vanished horizon,
they do not chase time—
they seek eternity.
Sky Burial Platform
You sleep among snowbound peaks,
the wind a breath of the Buddha.
The sky burial stone rises,
a silent stele against the void.
The burial master’s blade
opens the flesh,
and with it,
releases all clinging to the world.
Bones scattered like seeds to the wind,
and vultures descend
to carry the soul skyward.
They partake of the final offering—
blood and silence
shared with the earth and sky.
Here begins
the circle of return:
the body dissolves into wind and soil,
becoming part of the peaks once more.
The clouds remember—
they carry stories
too fragile for speech.
Every vulture in flight
lifts a fragment of life away.
And we, below,
look up into the quiet farewell,
where the soul,
already beyond time,
ascends into the turning wheel
of forever.
〈香格里拉傳奇〉∕陳去非
〈布達拉宮〉
屹立於拉薩的天際
白牆紅頂，似雪蓮高懸
千年石階，承載著信仰的重量
藏王的宮殿，佛陀的淨土
黃昏，山影逐漸模糊
布達拉宮在天空中閃爍
無數轉經筒的祈願
在每一片風聲裡回蕩
大殿內，佛像眼神慈悲而遠
香爐的煙霧緩緩升騰
載著塵世的心願，穿越時間
流淌於藏民的轉經路
多少朝聖者長跪於腳下
他們的心，是藏藍色天空
無邊而深遠，靜候一場雪的洗禮。
《香格里拉》
群峰如蓮向天際伸展
白雪覆蓋，將歲月的足跡抹去
這裡是傳說中的秘境
一片被遺忘的天地，遠離塵囂的安寧
河流在陽光下閃耀
夢般輕柔，訴說古老故事
靜謐的山谷間，時間似乎停止
人們的笑容，純粹如晨露閃爍
寺廟鐘聲悠悠迴響，香火升騰
將虔誠的祈禱送至無盡蒼穹
風聲輕拂過翠綠草原
在耳邊輕訴那永恆的秘密
香格里拉，是心中的寄託
遠方的燈塔，引領迷途者歸來
它不是一個地方，而是一段超越時空的追尋
在每個渴望平靜的靈魂深處，生根…
《消失的地平線》
雪峰如劍直指蒼穹
冰冷的呼吸，是歲月沉默的低語
古老寺廟立於群山之間
靜靜守望著不朽的秘密
黃金傳說在風中遊移
是誰的夢，誰的渴望，被時光掩埋？
藏民的笑聲，穿越高原的孤寂
他們的腳步與天地共舞。
每一顆石頭都藏著故事
每一片雪花，都映射著靈魂的長生
喇嘛的智慧，如雪融入溪流
長壽的秘訣，不過是心如止水
與自然同息，與萬物共存
在這消失的地平線後
藏民追尋的不是時間，而是永恆
《天葬台》
你在雪峰上沉睡
風聲是佛陀的呢喃
天葬台聳立在蒼茫間
一塊無言的石碑
天葬師的刀，割開死者身體
同時打開世俗的執念
骨骼碎裂，撒在風裡
兀鷹盤旋，呼喚著靈魂回歸
他們啄食血肉，與天地共用這最後的供養
生命的循環在這裡展開
死者的軀體化為風、土
與雪峰融為一體
天際的雲彩記錄著
那些無法言說的故事
每一次飛翔的禿鷹
都帶走了一段生命的碎片
而我們站在台下
仰望一場無聲的告別
靈魂卻已然超越了時間
飛升至永恆的輪迴
