One is a tin can for boiling wine.
From an ancient family in northern Shanxi.
Suck up a mouthful of mellow hot wine.
Used to pull camels.
On impulse, I rang the tambourine in the western regions.
One is a red agate snuff bottle.
Painting Camel Road Scenery in Mobei
Maybe it's the old man's psychic Baoyu.
When it was broken by brute force.
The rest of my life is only shame and redemption.
One is a copper pot handed down from the Great Shengkui.
Wrapped in dirty burlap.
In the past, it had its own brilliant uses.
After the master was disabled, he was willing to drown.
Accept hematuria and tears dripping from the night.
I heard my uncle's sigh in my dream:
What a waste. This pot is a cultural relic.
My family also has two pots.
One is the common boiled water aluminum pot.
But I was taken care of by my father when I was a baby.
Exiled intellectuals
Always nervously wiping the pot wall.
I like to keep the luster of the past.
When washing the pot, my father once muttered:
"People should live clean, just like this pot."
Another rusty broken jar.
This is rubbish picked up from the roadside.
When my cousin and I were digging sand in the old Yellow River.
Used to quench thirst and prevent heatstroke in turbid river.
It witnessed the hardships of small coolies.
Old, when I make tea in a teapot.
When you see a pot thinking, you will know that I cherish my soil.
I can't give up my dead father and uncle.
I really want to go back to my hometown in Shanxi and face the hukou.
Look at the big rivers and waterfalls swinging in the clouds!