The song of my hometown is a flute in Qingyuan.
It always rings with the moon at night.
The face of my hometown is a vague disappointment.
Like waves in the fog
After parting
Homesickness is a tree without rings.
Never grow old.
-Xi Murong's "Homesickness" Time is broken on the road, broken in the tree, broken in the hometown, and the echo ripples in time. Father in the rye
Text/Tianya Zhumeng
Marinate a golden yellow with sweat.
Your cultured figure
This is a mature ear of wheat.
Vilen is lonely and empty.
The wind at the moment, an invisible ruler.
Repeated measurement of wheat fields
Three or two sparrows
Earn enough food in panic
Only you, my father.
I watched it countless times under the flame.
sickle
Swing the wheat field into a crescent.
18.6.8
window
Text/Tianya Zhumeng
My greatest wish in my life.
Is to have a strong and beautiful house.
Can shelter from the wind and rain
There is a place to put the soul.
To this end, I have made efforts.
And all my savings
Suddenly find
I also gave myself a shackle.
So I long for blue sky and white clouds.
The wind in the wilderness
I tried my best to destroy some walls.
Let the green of life spread inch by inch.
I miss it again.
Those days of freedom
18.7. 16
Father of brewing
Text/Tianya Zhumeng
be streaming with sweat (from fear or physical exertion)
Father used raw water to make wine.
A flood of rice.
Soak in meta water
It will be mellow.
Father plunged into the field.
be in a drunken stupor
18.9.27
Homesickness under the moon
? Text/Tianya Zhumeng
?
? The dawn is dim, and the white dew adds coolness. Tourists travel abroad and see a foreign land.
In summer, cicadas scare Beidou, and in winter, kangs talk about cowherd.
Zheng Hong roamed the sky, and his motherland was scarred.
Tonight, the silver plate is full of long-cherished wishes, and a thin glass of wine reflects the mountain ridge.
18.9.9
Roustabout
Text/Tianya Zhumeng
It's a bit cold night.
People in a hurry are hurrying along.
It's like moving from one city to another.
Another city
Not many people pay attention to your guitar sound.
You are intoxicated by the familiar melody.
Big head leather shoes covered with dust
Rhythmic lights are buckled on the cold concrete floor.
The wind blows up unkempt hair.
Fall with the music
In this strange city
Rice without barnyard grass smells terrible.
You put blue sky and white clouds in your hometown.
Sing over and over again
18.9.9
I’m going home.
I'm going back to my hometown with flowers in my head.
I want to be under the sky in my hometown
Silence or speak loudly?
I hope my head is covered with flowers from my hometown.
-Haizi Friday | The story is all over the world, including you and your hometown. May you come back from the end of the world and your parents are still in your hometown.
Figure/handwriting | network