钵音
文/翼华
你用坚硬的木槌
轻轻敲击薄薄的颂钵
那种牵魂的泛音
从高到低，由近及远
像一根柔韧的丝线
紧紧捆住我纷乱的尘世
飘，飘着——
沉寂的山峰，幽谷，洁白的曼陀罗
一汪蓝幽幽的静泉中
一尾黑色的蝌蚪
无声无息地
游弋着
2026年8月6日
The Sound of the Singing Bowl
You strike the thin singing bowl gently
with a solid wooden mallet
That soul-stirring overtone
drifts down from high to low, far from near
like a supple thread
binding my chaotic mortal world tight
Drifting, drifting —
silent mountain peaks, deep valleys, pure white mandalas
within a pool of dark tranquil spring
a single black tadpole
silently
wanders along
August 6, 2026
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