A modern poem about homesickness, Other People's City.
The roads in this city are wide.
Cars are driving on it.
Excited and comfortable
The roads in this city are beautiful.
There are bright flowers everywhere in the shade.
but I ...
I often think of the winding dirt road in the field.
It connects the fields.
Village after village.
The feeling of walking on the road is that a person occupies the whole earth and sky-
The sun smiled gently on his head.
The wind is singing happily around.
Crops are groups of lovely children.
Reach out and touch the clothes.
Occasionally meet rabbits.
It looks calm and motionless.
Looking at me is like looking at another rabbit.
The roads in the city belong to cars.
Stay away from my memory
A deserted home
This old house is deserted.
Only the wind is empty in the yard.
This tree talked quietly with that tree.
Count the past forty years.
The master is dead.
Let's go.
This old house is abandoned every day.
if
All the dead people have come back to life.
Everyone alive came back.
Here, smoke will curl up.
My home is no longer deserted.
To my mother
Mom, you left.
It suddenly occurred to me at night.
We should go home.
There is our homestead and house.
even
I want to spend some money.
Pull up the courtyard wall and rebuild the new house.
Plant whatever you want.
Raise another pig and two sheep.
We went back to the countryside
I will spend the rest of my life with you
but
Son's. How late did the idea come?
How stupid he has become.
Because today
I can't find you even if I travel all over the world.
My white-haired mother
Old house
This old house is getting older and older.
Like a poor old man
Lose vitality and luster
The master is not here.
Neighbors no longer come.
Only moonlight and starlight cover it.
People who miss the old house are all far away.
Flying in dreams again and again
In the moonlight
He walked through the quiet fields.
Go on, go on.
The footsteps are so rapid and loud.
hometown
no longer
Childhood shuikeng
no longer
Cliffs in the street
no longer
Aunt Hutong
no longer
The sound of spinning and weaving
The village has changed beyond recognition.
I don't remember that.
The land is still there.
The street is still there.
The moon is still on the roof.
How many colleagues' faces are unfamiliar?
How many young people need to know their names?
sky
The day when swallows raise their children.
It is the day when spring is full of courtyard.
This is a bright and warm day.
Eat cake and drink millet soup.
Add some oil stars to the salted radish strips.
And the loom in the house
Collision and collision
Money has fallen.
Jujube flowers are in bloom.
Mulberry is ripe.
Wheat is yellow.
It's time to "plunge into the pit".
Everything is immersed in distant time and space.
Everything stays in the lingering homesickness.