〔溪聲山色禪〕／陳去非

其一：
溪流從不回頭，帶走月光與石的沉默
聲音重複，一個老僧說不完的夢
盡是昨日殘影，在水面上散作碎銀
是非對錯，都被時間攪碎成柔波
廣袤的林中，無聲處亦是辯說
長夜裡，那迴響如燈，如念經聲未斷
舌根無言，卻傳遍山河萬象

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其二：
山無語地站立，仿若千年禪定的僧
色彩退去，只餘光與影的呼吸
無礙於心者，方能見萬物之真
非有非無，是雲煙還是本性？
清晨微霧，掩不住樹的低語
淨盡所有執念後，你還剩下什麼？
身與影分離時，才知山早已入夢

20250424


[Zen of Stream and Mountain Colors]
by Chen Qufei

I.
The stream never looks back, carrying away moonlight and the silence of stones.
Its voice repeats—the endless dream of an old monk.
Only yesterday's fading shadows scatter like broken silver on the water.
Right and wrong are churned into soft ripples by time.
In the vast forest, even silence is a form of debate.
Through the long night, echoes linger like lamps, like unending chants.
The root of the tongue falls silent, yet the mountains and rivers proclaim it all.

II.
The mountain stands wordless, a monk in a thousand-year meditation.
Colors fade, leaving only the breath of light and shadow.
Only the heart, unburdened, can see the truth of all things.
Neither being nor non-being—is it mist, or is it the true nature?
Morning mist cannot conceal the whispering of trees.
When all attachments are cleansed, what remains?
When body and shadow part, you realize the mountain had long since begun to dream