白纸

樊功生

来的时候

像一页小纸

白白净净的

小风一来

就在手指间颤抖

纸角总是在摇晃着

发出瑟瑟的响声

周围的一切

都让他那么不安

是兴奋

还是恐惧？

也许第一笔就没有画好

之后越发难了

几十年下来

全是油墨

看不出什么形状

更谈不上什么优美

只是呆滞地摊在那里

像是在思索

又似乎是在迷茫

成了厚厚的帆布

只感到沉重... 

如今

突然觉得最好的画

是什么也没有

就像刚来时一样

洁白的

轻轻的

有人说

是可以回去的

只要愿意放弃一切

那就放弃吧

都没那么重要... 

Paper

By Ken Fan 

When arrived, 

Resembling a piece of paper, 

white and clean,

It trembled between fingers,

Whenever there's some breeze. 

Shaking all the time, 

With rustling disdurbances,

Unsettled by his surroundings. 

Maybe it's that excitement, 

Or actually out of fear?

So clumsy was the first stroke, 

The rest of path became an uphill. 

It's all just oil and grease remained 

Shapeless, 

Beauty-less. 

It now simply lies there

As if contemplating 

Or utterly bewildered. 

Such a thick piece of canvas, 

Only feels heavy... 

Suddenly now, 

comes a realization, 

The best painting is simply nothingness,

Just like at arrival,

Pure white with a weight like feathers. 

A voice is mumbling in the head:

-- You could go back there, 

As long as you would give up everything. 

So, let's give up all the things then, 

Nothing is that important...