Shu Ting's "Motherland, My Dear Motherland"
I am your dilapidated old waterwheel by the river
Spinning tired for hundreds of years Song;
I am the blackened miner's lamp on your forehead,
Walking as you snail and grope in the tunnel of history;
I am the withered ear of rice. ; It is a roadbed in disrepair;
It is a barge on the silt
The rope is deeply
stretched into your shoulders;
——Motherland!
I am poverty,
I am sorrow.
I am your ancestor from generation to generation
The painful hope,
It is on the sleeve of "Flying Sky"
It has not fallen for thousands of years. Flowers on the ground;
——Motherland!
I am your brand-new ideal,
Just broken free from the cobweb of myth;
I am the germ of your ancient lotus under the snow quilt;
I am your tearful smile;
I am the newly painted snow-white starting line;
It is the crimson dawn
Now gushing;
——Motherland!
I am one billionth of you
Is the sum of your 9.6 million square meters;
Your scarred breasts
Feeds
the confused me, the thoughtful me, the boiling me;
Then get it from my flesh and blood
Yours; your wealth, your glory, your freedom;
——Motherland,
My dear motherland!