In the spring of 2021, I by chance bought some bird-shaped stones from a merchant. The merchant said they were “pigeon-shaped desk decorations made of ancient Qingtian stones” and that they were mostly exported to Japan from the early 1950s to the mid-1960s. There were totally 12 birds. Though the neglected birds were far from being delicate and even each had blurred faces or flaws, say, tilted heads, incomplete faces and eyes that were not colored, to me, there was a rough beauty in them and each of them had its own features. So, I was glad to offer these poor little things a shelter.
Then I recalled Stray Birds, Tagore’s poetry collection. It suddenly occurred to me that the poetry collection that I was familiar with had such a lonely name. Aren’t these little pigeons the stray birds? Separation from the crowd will heighten loneliness and estrangement, but it is also an opportunity to recommunicate with one’s inner self. I’m willing to interpret the love from the world in my own way, although the world is not what I’ve been dreaming for.
Inscriptions of the seal carvings and notes from the author: