-A song for my mother
Stepping on the breath of spring
This beautiful day
Fuck you and fuck me.
My heart is as warm as the sea.
I really want to sing a carol for you.
I am neither a singer nor a poet.
I can't write a melody or sing a poem.
I lack flash inspiration and genius thinking.
I am ashamed that the deepest love can't be explained by a trickle.
But today,
I want to present a heart song for you.
May my song become a needle and thread.
Sew up the split wound for you.
May my songs turn into raindrops.
Moisten throat and quench thirst.
May my songs turn into clouds.
Bring fragrance to your life.
My original song turned into a cloud.
Refracting the luster of the sun for you
it's you
Gave me a beating pulse.
it's you
Gave me the joy of my childhood.
it's you
Teach me to take my time in adversity
2. Mother
Years climb on your forehead,
Time flies on my shoulders,
In the morning light, you smile,
There are still many vicissitudes,
Hold up my soft wings.
That sweet and delicious meal,
A warm and soft sweater;
Tireless teaching;
The complex of life is closely connected with me,
After being dissolved in the blood,
In the bone marrow,
In my heart,
Your love touched me.
I finally know that there is one thing in this world,
Richer than the water in the Yangtze River,
More thrilling than the Yellow River;
Tougher and evergreen than the green of pine and cypress;
That's your love,
Your deep love,
Selfless love,
My mother.
Step 3: Hands
I don't understand everything you gave me.
You polish my eyes.
So the world opened before my eyes.
I started walking up and down this strange street.
But you can always see a pair of big hands protecting and guiding.
I am chasing these big hands and stroking their vicissitudes covered by history.
However, I can't help sighing about the lost time.
It's these eager eyes.
You never stop, you must keep going.
I don't know what the destination is.
Your soul has left your body.
Does the soul not feel tired?
The world will eventually be gathered by eyes.
The street you walk on will no longer be strange.
Looking at those beautiful big hands, my eyes blurred.
three
Dedicated to my mother, sitting quietly on a flower, has been integrated with the book.
Because of her concentration, the book opened countless indifferent black eyes.
How beautiful and quiet! those years
I grew up healthily by tasting such scenes. She read softly, rippling in the air.
Love wave
Smell the homesick sea!
-
This bending posture makes the sun bend to the ground;
Such snow-white hair makes every winter pure and beautiful.
-
Old mother! Read longer than my life! Sitting quietly in the chill of early spring.
The waves decorate my years layer by layer.
When I went to the seaside as a student, I wrote a magnificent poem.
Waiting for your reading!
=
Untitled
A river of youth suddenly flows away with a bang.
Mom! I stopped by a blue sky and my bike leaned against the sun.
Underwater blue sky and deep water: boundless clouds
At this time, clouds are wandering around.
The flowers in my life suddenly bloom.
-
This is a mess of beauty everywhere! I drank the waves and rode away on my bike, the wheels rolling.
I'm far, far away ―― completely gone!
-
The rest of my body is next to the endless blue wave.
The rest of my poems record life, in full bloom-
What is left to me is green mountains and green waters, living and working.
-
I can only live in my mother's poems.
Living, melancholy, singing, full of hope.
-
Waiting for your return!
=
tornado
This is one of countless spring mornings, a roar of thunder.
Mom! In the red morning light, the bamboo basket for washing vegetables is so ethereal
It seems that the thunderstorm will not come.
-
There are thunderstorms, because of our beautiful home and singing.
Come to our hearts in advance. Mom, a huge smile is rolling in the sky.
The long-awaited comfort! In the center of the city square
I went over the mountains to listen to your voice flying home gently.
-
But mom, your wings only grow on me! My flying blood loves the rivers of the motherland.
Respond to the sound of your blood!
It seems to have condensed the flames of rural life for countless centuries.
-
Burning forever. Mom, the days of rice.
The light in the depths of blood makes the sun bright. I am a bright worker!
At the moment when I landed gently in the yard, there was a thunderstorm!
Began to roll in the sky, blending the earth, labor, flying and light-ah, the transparent storm, the exploding garden, the boundless me in my gentle and thin mother. ...