This silent lamp collides with another kind of black to produce black.
Wet. The fresh wind winds through.
It should be bright, with the temptation of grass.
There should be wandering in a daze, holding hands with the years.
Walking through the squares and hills, those shadows are sprouting.
Grow into a hawthorn tree, on the plain in the north.
They wrote my name in the snow and in the desolate white.
With the sound of salt, the wind winds through.
I ran across it in the square and on the mountain.
We met in the dark memory of shame.
We keep old and elegant on paper.
Full of shame, we
Heaven and hell on paper
Our shame comes from silence for too long and too deep.
We forgive the fragile soul in pain.
We weave nets on paper and hang fish and wooden beams.
Hard justice is like a fishbone, stuck in the throat.
Trees that we can't name are like mercury.
Stagnant and towering darkness is like a sharp sword.
When asked in time with reddish sadness and joy, it is with me.
There is a promise of life and death, hanging in my heart.
It has harvested my maturity and innocence.
What is left is rustless love and compassionate heart.
Bloom in black ink more noble than blood.
The hatred and sin carried by the nothingness of white paper
We have been silent for too long, and our broad foreheads
Full of wrinkles, obsessed with flesh and blood.
Timidity and cowardice, false screams
Fear pervades me and this era.
China people are ashamed of the complexity of our dwarfing.
Telling the truth is forbidden in the dark.
Confused inside, what bird is it?
How should it adapt to the turbulent soul? soul
Ah, don't say that word to me, it makes me
Resentful of fate, shut up, fate.
After years of silence, I can't find it.
I'm just an empty man, living in shame all the time.
It's not enough! I am also used to wearing masks.
Raise your hand and talk. You want me to leave it behind.
Youth and anger, I owe my ancestors.
Debt, they use blood, life and love.
In exchange for the motherland, it nourishes me as a parasite.
I touch the edge of the country and the city, facing
The remnants of love, our silence will be an indelible shame.
What I see is clouds, which are higher.
Overlooking, stainless autumn iron
I face a wide range of voice loss.
The crowd was bitter and angry in silence.
It is tyrannical stone and iron, not words.
And autumn, is it a change of mind or
Physical destruction is an army or a tank.
On paper, it's insomnia, fines and violence.
Poverty and occupational diseases ... collapsed.
Strength, bloody butterfly perches in the wound.
On flowers, there were thousands of trees in Hengtai last year.
This year, a melancholy heart turns in the wind.
They reappear in the stone, which is very difficult.
And the changeable heart has entered the summer.
Clarified the stars and prophecies, red
The world is unpredictable and needs blood and strength.
Miniskirt, mistress's face, she is very fat.
Hips imply some kind of crisis, and the moon is in the rock.
With Robinia pseudoacacia, you use simple and bright rhetoric.
Or a philosophy from India to save a man
Painful and tired heart, etymology is originally
Vulgar political lies, indulge in fantasy
With crying, spring seclusion, winter.
My heart is heavy, leaving the blood of summer.
Above us, you are reading in the mountains.
Understanding the scenery of life and death with the water of Duliujiang River
How many thoughts have I arranged like a street tree on Zhang Yang Road?
The fist has been opened in the past, but God is still lively and optimistic.
We bear the sadness he brought with his poems.
Because of cowardice and cowardice, I owe the world a debt.
If you can't say clearly, you can't escape, and shame will not be forgiven.
Punish our fate with self-hatred
This futile writing is inherently more fragile than me, just like
A heavy stone is pressing, and my heart is restless.
Noisy, whispering people and bureaucrats shook their faces.
We have to beg for food in words to settle down.
Waiting for it, burning our bodies and souls.
Its melancholy is similar year after year, and we write it down in writing.