"I Love This Land" by Ai Qing
If/I were a bird, I should also/use my hoarse throat/singing: This/is struck/by the storm/ The land, the river that is always raging with our sorrow and anger, the angry wind that blows endlessly, and the extremely gentle dawn that comes from the forest... - and then I died. , Even the feathers rot in the earth. Why/are there always tears in my eyes/? Because/I love this land/deeply...
"I use my broken palms" by Dai Wangshu
I use my broken palms to explore this vast land: This corner has changed Turned into ashes, that corner is just blood and mud; this lake should be my hometown, (in spring, the flowers on the embankment are like brocade barriers, and the young willow branches have a strange fragrance when broken,) I touch the waterweed and the coolness of the water; The snowy peaks of the Changbai Mountains are so cold that they are bone-chilling, the water of the Yellow River slips out of the mud between your fingers; the paddy fields in the south of the Yangtze River, the grass you grew back then was so thin and soft...now there is only basil; the lychee flowers in Lingnan are lonely. Haggard, over there, I dipped in the bitter water of the South China Sea without fishing boats... The invisible palm passed over the infinite mountains and rivers, the fingers were stained with blood and ashes, the palm was stained with darkness, only that far away corner was still intact, warm, clear, and solid And vigorously spring. On it, I caress it gently with my damaged palm, like the soft hair of a lover or the milk in a baby's hand. I put all my strength into my palms and put them on it, sending love and all hope, because only there is the sun and spring, which will drive away the darkness and bring revival, because only there we will not live like animals and die like ants... …there, the eternal China!
Mu Dan's "Praise", great love
Countless mountains, rivers and grasslands, countless dense villages, cock crows and dogs barking , connecting on the land of Asia that was originally desolate, the dry wind howls in the vastness of wild grass, the water flowing eastward sings monotonously under the low-pressure dark clouds, there are countless buried years in the melancholy forest, they are silent The earth embraces me: endless stories are endless disasters, what is silent is love, is the eagles flying in the sky, is the dry eyes looking forward to the tears from the spring, when the unshakable gray ranks are in the distance. The sky is crawling; I have too many words, too long feelings, I want to use the desolate desert, the bumpy roads, the mule cart, I want to use the trough boat, the wild flowers in the mountains, the rainy weather, I want to embrace you with everything , the people I see everywhere, the people living in shame, the rickety people, I want to hug you one by one with bloody hands, because a nation has risen. A farmer, his rough body moves in the fields. He is the child of a woman and the father of many children. Many dynasties have risen and fallen in him, pressing their hopes and disappointments on him, and he is forever speechless. Spin after the plow, turning up the same soil that dissolved his ancestors, the same image of suffering solidified by the roadside. How many times on the road did happy songs flow by, how many times were the sorrows that befell him. On the road, people spoke, shouted, and were happy, but he didn't. He just put down the ancient hoe and believed in nouns again, Melted into the love of the public, firmly, he watched himself melt into death, and this road was infinitely long, and he could not shed tears. He did not shed tears, because a nation had risen. Surrounded by mountains, under the blue sky, when passing by his home in spring and autumn, the most subtle sadness is hidden in the deep valley: An old woman is looking forward to her children, many children are looking forward to hunger, and yet Endurance in hunger, there are still those huts gathering darkness on the roadside, the same unknown fear, the same soil that erodes life in nature, but he walked away and never looked back to curse. For him, I want to hug everyone. For him, I lose the comfort of hugging. Because of him, we cannot give happiness. Weep bitterly, let us cry bitterly on him, because a nation has risen. The same is the wind of this long time, the same is the endless moaning and cold spreading from under the collapsed eaves, it sings on the top of a withered tree, it blows through the barren swamp, reeds and insects. The sound of the flying crow is the same. When I walked by and stood on the road, I hesitated. I was still waiting in the vast mountains and rivers for the years of shameful history. Waiting, our silent pain was too great. There are many, but a nation has risen, yet a nation has risen.