最后一站，Bhaktapur
去年第一次来访就爱上她
一个古老的皇城
那些宫殿，寺庙，国会大堂
还有广场，鸽子在上空骚乱纷飞
游客匆匆的来又匆匆的离开
留下来宿夜的不多
但傍晚过后才是Bhaktapur最柔美的时光
暖晕晕的斜光洒落在人潮稀疏的广场上
噪音低沉下来，有人轻轻吟诵
绕回起落的佛经旋律
寺庙墙上的红砖仿佛渐渐苏醒
折射着微弱的软光
在对路过的旅人细数历史的图腾
夜，接着缓缓淹没
人潮近乎彻底撤退到各自的暗角
还在赶路的低着头牵扯着返家的路线
留下来的旅人也隐退到各自喜爱的旅馆
在屋顶的小餐馆享用Dhal Bat
聆听着传统的音乐，或重复不断的歌曲
车声在楼下轻缓地传了上来
然后又悠悠远逝
仿佛在说：这一刻，是生命歇息的时候了。
Last stop: Bhaktapur
When the dusk casts its illuminating shadow on Bhaktapur Square
Rushing crowds of tourists reluctantly leave their chaotic footsteps behind
Piercing commotion wilt like autumn blooms
Stirring silence awakes every red brick of the ancient temples
They softly glow and murmur the tales of an esoteric totem of history to the passerby
Hardly anyone will halt and listen
Anxious hearts hastily search their way back home
Remained tourists withdraw to their choices of cafes
Ethereal chant of mythical sutra rises into the air
Bhaktapur, salaciously unwrapped its naked beauty
When last light fades into the abyss of the night
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