CHRISTINE PEIYING CHEN

 

 

August

 

You pulled me up and ran

Over fences and ditches,

Stepping across wild chrysanthemums,

Shaking off the shadows of stars.

Suddenly emerged the first ray of morning light as we crossed the hilltop.

 

I knew I wouldn’t die.

The fluttering clothes, connected with golden light,

Helped me fly high.

 

On the golden path, you turned into a white light, a cloud: self-ignited bright.

 

“It has nothing to do with light, nothing to do with the sun… it’s about time,” you said to me once there.

 

Ignition point you were reaching, before there was light.

Tears, before there were eyes

Love, tenderness, all ready to me–

Just before I arrived.

 

Including: feet, roads and bridges

Before your shoes were tied.

And so, you walked through the end of your life barefoot–

Entrusting yourself to August alright.

 

Resurrection Butterfly

[Preface]

 

If I can’t reverse time, turn me into a butterfly. With the butterfly effect, stir up the snowstorms of the North Pole and awaken you from slumber.

 

Back then, only small green sprouts emerged

You couldn’t wait any longer, impatiently urging her to grow leaves and bloom

Tired of the bees’ brewing, the waiting day in and day out

Tired of the ostentatious display of summer and the coveting eyes in the shadows–

You commanded her to bear fruit.

 

Clip-clop of hooves, May completes summer, June completes autumn

July, passing through my confused self and non-self

August, reaching straight to winter.

 

A thread of golden sunlight, the dawn of the Antarctic, now casting the afterglow of the Arctic

Beneath your feet, crawling with fallen leaves and the yearning of death. —

The horse carries you to the edge

Any chance of life?

Only the dance of the golden gingko leaves, turning into countless golden butterflies in the sky. —

It is said that a gentle flap of wings can trigger distant lightning and storm, waking the sleeping one

 

Let Me Be A Resurrection Butterfly

 

Fig in February

A tiny kernel encapsulates the secrets of spring, summer, autumn, and winter

Blooming and withering, revealing and hiding, all including

 

How can she not feel the pain, to be so accommodating

With just a light flick of the fingernail, white sap splashes out

Dripping like the rain drops

 

She is quiet, words only can be read in lips, and silent is her pride

 

What is she waiting for?

For the February sun to melt the ice and snow

For the warmth to withdraw the chill from her eyes,

For peach blossoming outside the bamboo grove

For the water, the ducks and the one to know all the unspoken

 

The wind blowing, the fig shell starts cracking, revealing the tender, pink skin

Now the east wall is covered in Buddha citron vines, blooming flowers as white as the snow

The first melon pops out

 

In the early morning, the rain stops and the wind dies down, the clouds are rosy

It’s fine, as if nothing had happened last night: the falling snow as white as the flowers

 

Soon, the Buddha citron is growing into a Buddha

 

The fox comes to the fruition of a fig

 

CHRISTINE PEIYING CHEN

 

CHRISTINE PEIYING CHEN: (New Zealand), P.G.D of Business, Bachelor of Educational Communication (B.S.), the editor –in-chief of People Daily Newspaper Oversea (Australia& New Zealand Oceania Special Edition ) , New Zealand Newspaper [Mandarin Page] columnist, editor-in-chief & acting committee member of New Zealand Writer Association(Asian literature), won 2nd & 3rd Prize of New Zealand Writers Award in 2021-2022& 2019-2020(Chinese literature), Chen serves as an coordinator of 2022 Sydney Poetry Festival (Australia), an coordinator of World Poetry Day Festival(2023). Chen’s poems was published at Australia of the anthology [Through the Realm of Impermanence] 2022, Sydney, Australia.