谁在变,来回之间,每一道光线。谁在等待,那些褪尽的颜色,随时间坠落。谁曾听过,这静寂的故宫。那一天我路过了这样一个寺院,这里没有其他寺院的人烟鼎沸,这里安静而低调。三三两两的游人,各自游览着,穿着红色僧袍的喇嘛的温和友善,我轻声问一问这是什么地方?他们说你已遗忘,经钟敲响,岁月流传,时光,千百年,来了又去。 Who is changing, back and forth, every ray of light. Who is waiting, those faded colors, fall over time. Who ever heard, this silent Forbidden City. That day I passed by such a temple, there is no other people in the monastery smoke, quiet and low-key here. Three thousand two hundred and twenty-two of the tourists, each touring the gentle warmth of the lamas dressed in red monk’s robes, I whispered to ask where is this place? They say you have forgotten, the bell ring, the passage of time, time, thousands of years, came Go again.