If I see white bones and small wild flowers on the way to the plateau, I will think of you. Five thousand years ago, you passed a small town on the plateau, carrying nine heads on your back, looking tired and in a hurry, and remarried.
. Your future wife is sitting in the sunshine in front of her house. She raised her hand and rubbed some bone needles in the girl's light yellow hair. Her face turned red before tasting the newly brewed beer. This will be a sensational marriage. This is related to the fate of two ancient clans that are far apart. Your young wife will win you salt, horses, highland barley and all the healthy young slaves in a tribe. For months, all the old people with loose teeth in the surrounding towns have been whispering and looking solemn.
You walked past me proudly and easily by the river at sunset on the plateau. At that time, I was young and my facial features were blurred. My lover, Dora, drowned in the river where the sun set. She was only nine years old.
I'm in love with him and I'm going to marry him. I cut my finger and solemnly revealed the secrets of my youth to the wizards. They started laughing until they burst into tears, and some people could hardly breathe. I don't know why they laughed at me so loudly,
Why do they laugh at a girl who is only three years old?
(2)
In fact, I have never been to the northern plateau, and I have never been to the river mentioned in the story.
I was born in the warm and humid south. As an eager seeker of imaginary homesickness, I began to re-conceive the narrative poems of that place. Yes, I didn't meet you five thousand years ago; Five thousand years later, we still stick to our respective hometowns.
We never lack spring, horses and salt except despair. But in the end, we were swallowed up by the city, owned by the city, and let the city re-portray my face as a girl.
I have everything at the moment: ideal, passion, desire, fashion, freedom, depravity, autumn, illness and ballads. But there is still a lack of despair. Sitting by the window, long hair scattered on the snow-white chest. I'm just waiting for someone who will be my husband and put his surname before my name and property. I don't remember what he looks like. Maybe someone who plays the piano. A stranger. Poor, with strong dialect. In this era of economic depression and material shortage, a naturally gentle southern woman who knows how to live still stubbornly wants to care about him. Every day when I chew food, I always feel sad. Every morning when I wake up, I feel sincerely afraid that I cannot love him.
But no one ever believed in my loyalty. Waiting and lovesickness are all in vain. As always, it is raining quietly in this city. I cut open the blue blood vessels under the transparent skin, and the blood flowed all over the floor quietly. You will be in the morning
Barefoot through my blood. Through the city in September, I called your name again and again, my childhood refugee, and you drank stinking highland barley wine alone. You really don't know what kind of life this life will be and what year it will be. You are in a hurry with nine heads in your hand.
, going to exchange a marriage.
I didn't meet you in the plateau five thousand years ago. In the darkest sky, I heard singing and blood. At this time, I laughed loudly, cried, cried and laughed, and drank a hundred bowls of highland barley wine. From then on, I abandoned the gentlemanly demeanor, nine-year compulsory education, pure and beautiful ideology and morality, and firm revolutionary belief. I abandoned the person who swore to love me with my life, and at the same time resolutely abandoned me. On this dark plateau, I raised my hand and pointed to the sky.
.
Skyfire didn't want to kill the unknown woman gently, so I survived like a shade plant.
You chose death. When you choose to die, you are neither afraid nor brave. You have many descendants. Your wife will give you nine sons, robbers, farmers, thieves, traveling monks, fallen leaders and traitors.
There are no poets. The eighth is the only baby girl who died on the night of birth.
She is me.
(3)
Finally, I'm in love with spring. It's really beautiful. I will betray my love when young people start looking for the secret happiness of love. I'm going to sell it to you at a high price. I want you to spend all your money, eyes
Empty. I want you to write the most fragrant and touching poem in your life. Whether in barter or in the commodity age of currency circulation, I want you to love me all my life, second only to your poems.
Poetry is your wife. I am your concubine.
I am willing to be a concubine. My concubine is beautiful and calls herself a slave.
I am gentle and considerate.
You will know.
If you buy love, you will know. I took the biggest risk and made a bet with men all over the world. You have to gamble. If you lose, drink to death. When you die, your fingers will say, "Alas!" ! Dial the lyre again, and I am like a noble family.
A girl student with a white skirt and a black skirt in Jasper brothel girls' school. The rope broke and I hid my face and cried.
That will be the truest and cheapest tears in my life.
Eyebrows are black and skin is jade. I wasn't born to be loved. Just to scream and cry.
You should take me in and tolerate my wandering life.
I will wash away the years, put on exquisite clothes and pawn my ancestral gold hairpin to buy wine. One for you and one for me. Lots of cups. I drank a lot of wine with you, and then I was yours.
This is the only line that women in the world have.
Don't think I'm cheap, you should be different. My love. You will fall in love with me, as white as a sheet. If you want to give up on me, you must drink a lot of wine with me and stab me in the chest with your sword. I unbuttoned my lovesick clothes.
Kim, you have to put me in a place where I was not born. You have to hurry, so that I won't suffer. I won't be sad either.
Don't leave me to the years, and don't make me look as old as those women who complain. Don't ask me not to forgive you or myself. You should care about me and let me avoid being someone else's mistress. I don't want to be a prostitute. Go find them.
Have fun and have sex.
(4)
A one-night stand on a spring night is fine. Our life span is 500 years. We have been so sad for 500 years, and death is as far away as happiness.
You're dead.
I finally understood this simple and important fact.
The man who took you away from me will also die. She will die many years later-in the cold autumn. She will bleed to death during childbirth. She will die like a real woman. Never has so much blood drowned her, but it will never touch your white clothes.
At that time, you should be a stranger and stand at a distance with your unique indifference. Her blood can't touch your robe any more than my blood can never touch you.
From one autumn to another, all women near your skin will be cursed. And I, I love you coldly from a distance, like a conspiracy, sad and angry.
(5)
I can't give you money, I can't give you sex, I can only hold you superficially. Let's hibernate together, like kind bears, without brushing our teeth and eating breakfast.
Let's hibernate, hibernate.
Cheap food, cheap powder, just sang a song all night, and the guests left.
The snow on the ground has not melted yet.
I want to sleep. Please give me a bed.
I'm going to bed. Your messy hair smells of smoke. I have difficulty breathing.
Stranger, when the snow melts, we will go to the south, where it is warmer.
The room was so small that we had to lie side by side. I fell asleep before you undressed me. You cried and said, "Leave or have sex with me".
However, I sang songs all night, and the guests dispersed. The snow on the ground has not melted yet.
I like you to take me home and kiss the cold air around you.
Stranger, you are the person I care about most in this city. I can't leave. I'm afraid you're scared.
But I can't have sex with you. I already have someone I love. At his funeral, he took me through his cold body.
I can't give you money or have sex with you. Although you stay up all night because of unemployment, poverty and lust. If you abandon your plump ex-girlfriend and fall in love with your neighbor, a prostitute who talks loudly, you should respect her. you can
Have sex with her, but don't talk to her. Don't ask me for love and warmth at night, and don't torture me with your sensitive and distant homesickness. I am exhausted.
Let me sleep.
Do you know what women want? She just wants happiness and death. In the narrow bed full of bread crumbs, I hold the piano on which I live and let myself have a good sleep. There is no day and night.
Don't take off your clothes or mine. Please lie side by side with me, as close as brother and sister. Let me be a pure woman and spend the cold night with you. Let me be in your underground, never climb out of the ground again, never know them again. If I die in silence, please don't abandon my body and don't let the people I love see my death. Besides, you have to say that you died beautifully, more beautifully than them.
(6)
Gradually, I grew up to be a holy woman, just like a woman who gave her virginity in the Black Iron Age of ancient Greece, waiting for her husband to return from an expedition. In the epic with a long history, a woman suffered for 20 years and never got old. They are still sitting.
Before spinning, there is no desire They kept spinning, refusing the rough entanglement of pursuers with wit and silence.
Blind poet, old poet, wise poet!
You forgot to tell me the reason, but only described the ending: the returning soldiers killed the suitors, and they got back their land, cattle and sheep, righteous servants and wives. How I envy those women who have beauty and wealth, because they will never
Will be abandoned and will never lose her virginity.
What is the difference between a lover and another lover? I fled angrily from those familiar dark corners, mumbling and asking sharp questions.
All the touches are reasonable, and you even left me intact.
Have you ever seen a woman in blue in franco modigliani? Her long and narrow face is full of elegant and calm sadness and peace? Italian French painters died of tuberculosis and debauchery when they were young. His wife died the next day and fell from a height like a butterfly.
Falling, killing a young woman and April's fetus.
(7)
In the summer of 98, I flirted with a stranger for the first time. He took a bath in the yard and pushed the door in.
I got up and greeted him like a little girl.
I smell a faint smell of soap on him, just like you.
Please love others, they are beautiful and sexy.
But I want you, he patted my chest seriously.
I have nothing, I cry quietly.
Shh-don't let the neighbors hear you, he said.
We heard our neighbors walking in the yard.
Will you love me? I shook my head and said apologetically, no, I will never love you. I will never fall in love with anyone else again.
I'm just a poet. I don't drink or take drugs. I'm just looking for chapters and sentences, artificial.
Haizi, Van Gogh, Kodelin, short-lived poets, I salute you, I will die at the age of 82.
(8)
We will build a world-class university with first-class virgins.
No, you are wrong. I don't write folk songs, and I don't write non-mainstream. I only discuss an important issue seriously before graduation. It is time. We must burn all the rubbish in this city. I have detailed figures and conclusive evidence.
Yes, but all the respected professors in this college angrily accused me of "please leave some green for our children and grandchildren". Their hair is gray and sad.
I respectfully await their verdict. I am equally hesitant, stubborn and paranoid in love and study, but there is nothing wrong with me. Like all the fallen poplars in this city, I am kind and cowardly, but I have no fault.
Finally, one day, I was informed to shoot graduation photo.
I sat humbly in front of the camera, fantasizing about you, but you never came to pick me up. You only looked at me behind the curtain of years, watching me grow up eagerly.
This school accepts a large number of young girls every year, just like me, as if I was born to be loved by men. You can fall in love with them, just as you fell in love with me years ago.
All you have to do is put one hand gently on their shoulders and lift the hair on their foreheads with the other hand. You can touch their breasts. Here it is. They are designed for your touch. They are full of girls' years and dreams. they
Does it make you feel sad?
We will graduate from this famous engineering university, "Work for the health of the motherland for 50 years, please pay attention to using condoms". You are pushing and shoving in the crowd in this city, and I will stand in every corner of the street.
But nobody is you.
(9)
After many years, peach blossoms are in full bloom.
The rain is blurred, although you are still alive.
When I turned around inadvertently in the southern city, you knocked over a bowl of bitter herbal tea.
This is a poem by Wu Hongfei! ! ! Dude, look at this. It's all yours