Biography of Wang Qian
I'm a Chinese girl and I love poems. They are just like the bones that hold up my flesh powerfully, which gives my heart so much room to breathe and bloom.
In my eyes, poems writing is not a Forbidden City, but words in it can play with each other, Chinese characters can exchange some fantastic fun with English dictions when one pictures an English poem with a cross thinking in mind, thus the boundary of languages blurs and the continuation of passion stirs.
It's a big universe.
Wang Qian Poems
If I Were A Leaf
If I were a leaf, I'd like to be blown away into the sky, Breathe the air that comes from my home.
We live in a huge plastic bag, Little to breathe, Less to let out.
My Foreign Teacher
She has blond hair, Her smile is pink. She comes from America,
Wearing a glove, Cause the other of the pair is lost, So you are naked, in one hand.
The Rose Buds In My Mooncake
Autumn falling, The bones of maple leaves cracking Into young palms of unquietness, When wave so gracefully,
A Pinioned Swan
So gorgeous she floating, in the golden shine, Fair as an angel, On the shimmering waters
What The Ladybird Said
One day When the pearly rains ba-da ba-da knitted down My neighbor the ladybird told me a story of the Tung. A horrid gust one night once came
Over an afternoon tea, The wind sliding like touching Across the green screens of bamboos To the quiet lake
双 囍 One more happiness One more happiness
Love Is A Train Ticket
Love is a thin train ticket With homesick carriages overloaded Clattering on the Milky Way Of the nostalgic calendar
She once made you happy, She once let you not leave her in your heart. You forgot it in the front lawn,
Vincent Van Gogh
He was born to be bothered by all kinds of colours, But refused to be bothered by the vulgar. Keep still when be mistaken, Not let the nature be, though.
The girls without pain can't be princesses, The roses without thorns can't be beauties, We must live the life that we are to, It bores us into a deep unknown hole.
The Day And The Night
Reaches the white day, The sun raging fast like a roaring train, Moves laboringly on a track round, Sets steps to an endless end.
Vincent Van Gogh
He was born to be bothered by all kinds of colours,
But refused to be bothered by the vulgar.
Keep still when be mistaken,
Not let the nature be, though.
He is an excellent cook,
Making golden colours ingredient of his masterpiece.
He is an ingenius architect,
Painting the walls of his huge building with pureness.