Du Fu, I want to tell you

Du Fu, I want to tell you (composition) that it is another winter. The north wind raged outside the window, stripping away the only yellow leaves left on the tree. I sat in front of the stove, looking at the stove wall dyed red by the flame, and I couldn't help thinking of you. 1000 years ago, on a winter day, you uttered a sigh of emotion to the fire: "Cry for new ghosts, worry for the old". At that time, you were already weather-beaten: young people's wandering ambitions were hard to go down the drain, middle-aged officials were captured by rebels, but outspoken suggestions were despised, and in their later years, they took the boat as their home and wandered around. Even so, you don't care-in your heart, there will always be a country and the whole world. The poison of war and the extravagance of powerful people make you full of grief and indignation. You turned all your sadness and anger into poetry. So your poems spread all over the country, transcending the limitation of time and space, and even after 1000 years, they were widely read. People pick out beautiful poems and show them off like treasures; They put you on the altar and sanctified you; They say, "the country is unfortunate, the poet is lucky", and they are very grateful to history for giving you such a gift ... chanting your poems, they seem to get everything. But, Du Fu, I want to say to you: They don't understand you! They ponder over the words you left behind and appreciate the rhythm of your creation, but forget that poetry is cast by the blood and tears of an era. Through the wonderful words, who saw the frozen bones on the roadside? Through the rhythm, has anyone heard the helpless cry of the people? As night falls, the fire is red. How many nights have you stood alone in the wilderness, facing the starry sky, feeling that the future of the country is uncertain and lamenting the sufferings of the people. They abandoned you, but you didn't forget them. Even when a group of children in the village openly snatched the thatch from your roof, you were still calling on millions of luxury houses to accommodate the poor in the world. I know that you love this country and wish her well, just like a mother who loves him forever, and you don't need to return. Then you left and went to a place we didn't know, leaving only a few poems and a handful of dust. Behind you, the rest of the thousands of victims in Qian Qian are gasping for breath suppressed by history, and the rest of the boring literati are playing word games to make you forget the real poetry. Du Fu, how I want to say to you: "Stay, even for a short time!" " "People need your sadness because you are sad for their sadness. But you left anyway, in a hurry, as if nothing could keep you. Since then, your voice has become more and more difficult to find, leaving only sporadic sighs in the long river of the Millennium. Will you regret leaving? Come back! The injustice of the world needs you to shout, and the sufferings of the people need you to worry. Du Fu, we still need you!