Wrap my wasted years
Alcohol, tobacco and snow accompanied me all night.
Floating on the day when I am no longer young.
Like the long snowflakes in this dry spring.
White cold is white all over the world.
Who wants such a color?
Walking in the wheat field with intoxicated steps
A foot deep and a foot shallow.
Cold is the call of death.
With the peace of the night spreading.
calmly
An unruly son got lost in the snow.
At this moment, I also let go of my persistence and followed in his footsteps.
Standing in the snow with him at night)
Standing in the wheat field
Snowflakes covered my wheat seedlings.
Like the roots of wheat, I put my feet into this land.
Do you remember
It's the soil under your feet, the white flour ground by wheat on the soil.
Gave me a body.
If it is the mind that receives the suffering soul.
Let this decadent and numb body bury him today.
This is the dream of wheat poet.
This is the grave of wheat poet:
A pile of snow above.
The poet stood in the wheat field under the snow.
At the bottom is the soil that has remained unchanged for thousands of years.
Father, I came to see you.
Come and talk to you.
The countryside has changed a lot, and I'm afraid it's your loess that remains unchanged.
It has divided us into the underworld for many years.
Father, I tore down the earthen tile house you left behind and built it into a building.
You were a plasterer when you were alive, and now you are called a cement worker.
The wooden pestle, iron pestle and wallboard you left behind
It is no longer useful.
Father, I changed the chair you bought into a sofa.
I changed the dining table you bought into a coffee table.
I replaced the wooden bed you bought with Simmons.
I changed the box you bought into a combination cupboard.
The sickle you left behind was rusted by the combine.
The hoe you left was rusted by the herbicide.
And plows and rakes, and cows with whips and reins.
Have become idle goods.
The wheat field is gone.
The wheat straw has been returned to the field.
Shijie slept soundly in the village, just like you slept here.
Mulberry fork, wooden shovel, etc. What you left behind also lost their usefulness.
Dad, mom doesn't wear the thimble you bought her.
I bought her a ring.
Mom doesn't need the stick and washboard you bought her.
I bought her a washing machine.
I took down the stove you made and replaced it with a gas stove and an induction cooker.
The chimney you built stopped smoking, so I installed a range hood.
Tap water is used at home.
The buckets and hooks you left behind are as relaxed as your mother.
Father, the dirt road is paved with cement road, which connects every village and every family.
No more fear of rain, no more barefoot stepping on mud, no more fear of cutting your feet by stones and gravel.
You don't have to worry about itchy "salt pimples" (a skin disease) when you wrap your feet in mud.
Therefore, the clogs you made and the rubber shoes you bought are useless.
Father, you left us a lot of things that you once regarded as treasures.
It's useless now. It's redundant.
You won't be angry or scold me for losing them, will you?
Father, can you hear what I said to you?
I hope it is a modern poem in Tomb 3.
Our grave
You can also plant green plants.
My rotting body felt the pain increase.
Black eyes see the darkness, looking for a light through the gap.
The sunshine outside the grave
Burned my fragile skin.
I'm very happy about that.
My blood vessels are opening clear veins.
Broken heart, in a little bit of compound.
Feel the breeze and the flowers.
Feel the dust on my bare shoulders.
Feel the warm and sad world
I also saw many bones.
Grow fresh flesh and blood
Butterflies are flying around them.
They smell the flowers and pursue their souls.
I also see people I haven't seen for a long time.
Holding their pets.
Holding a child.
Pick up the lost laughter