Ai Qing
Snow fell on the land of China,
The cold is blocking China. ...
Wind,
Like a sad old woman.
Follow closely
Stretch out your cold fingers
Pulling a pedestrian's skirt,
As old as your land.
I never stopped talking for a moment. ...
Appear in the forest,
Drive a carriage
You China farmer,
Wearing a fur hat,
Braving the heavy snow
Where are you going?
Tell you
I'm also a descendant of farmers-
Because of yours
A face engraved with epileptic wrinkles.
I can go so deep
got it
People living on the grassland
The hardships of years.
but I ...
It's not happier than you.
-Lying on the river of time
A wave of suffering
Swallowed me once and rolled me up several times-
Vagrancy and imprisonment
I lost the most precious time of my youth,
My life
Like your life.
The same haggard.
Snow fell on the land of China,
The cold is blocking China. ...
By the river on a snowy night,
A small oil lamp moves slowly,
On that tattered Wu Peng boat
Reflect the light and hang your head.
Who is sitting there?
-Ah, you
A dirty little woman,
Is it ... or not
Your home
A nest of happiness and warmth
An already violent enemy
Did it burn down?
Is it ... or not
On a night like this,
Without the protection of men,
In the fear of death
You were teased by the enemy's bayonet.
On such a cold night.
innumerable
Our elderly mother,
Just like a foreigner
I don't know the wheels of tomorrow.
What kind of journey do you want to embark on?
For "object": analysand
The Road to China
Is so rugged,
It's too muddy.
Snow falls on the land of China;
The cold is blocking China. ...
Those areas swallowed up by the fire,
Countless land cultivators
Lost their livestock.
Lost their land in Waugh.
squeeze in
In the dirty alley of despair of life;
Hungry earth
Reach out into the dark sky
Begging for help
Trembling arms.
The pain and disaster in China
As vast and long as this snowy night!
Snow fell on the land of China,
The cold is blocking China. ...
China,
Mine is in the dark.
A weak poem.
Can I give you some warmth?
I love this land.
Ai Qing
If I were a bird,
I should also sing with a hoarse throat:
This land hit by the storm,
This river of sadness and anger will surge forever,
This endless wind,
And the gentle dawn from the forest ...
And then I died,
Even feathers rot in the ground.
Why do I often cry?
Because I love this land deeply. ...
Motherland, my dear motherland.
Shu Ting
I am your shabby old waterwheel by the river.
Old songs that have been spun for hundreds of years.
I am a miner's lamp with your forehead blackened.
When you grope in the tunnel of history.
I am a withered ear of rice; This is a roadbed that is in disrepair.
This is a barge on the beach.
Draw the rope deep
Pull it into your shoulder
-the motherland!
I am very poor.
I am sad
I am your ancestor.
Painful hope.
It's a flying sleeve.
Flowers that never fall to the ground for thousands of years
-Motherland
I am your brand-new ideal.
Just broke free from the mythical spider web.
I am the germ of your ancient lotus under the snow.
I am your tearful smile.
I am the newly painted white starting line.
This is crimson dawn.
Spraying
-Motherland
I am one billionth of you.
Is the sum of your 9.6 million square meters.
With your scarred breasts,
raise
Lost me, considerate me, boiling me.
And then from my flesh and blood
get
Your richness, your glory, your freedom.
-Motherland
my dear motherland