Standing in front of the grave
I seem to hear a faint bugle call.
Sense of mission; sense of responsibility
Rows of martyrs' tombs
Like a powerful army.
Prepare for a trip or March
tombstone
A few words
Condensed a period of bonfire years.
Red tomb
Solidified a young life.
Standing in front of the grave
The nobility and the poor are getting smaller.
Life and blood are shocking.
On a peaceful day
We forget easily.
I even forgot where pigeons came from.
Learn to forget and think.
From the smiles of those cold stones
We may become mature.
Standing in front of the grave
I seem to hear the trembling voice of history.
The grave is a glorious chapter.
The pigeon whistle sounded.
That's a bullet whistling.
It was the body that fell.
Immortality is the spirit.
They wrote their own history.
Our history is being written.
Poems in Memory of Revolutionary Martyrs (2)
At the foot of Mengshan Mountain, beside the Yishui River,
The martyr cemetery under the shade of pine and cypress,
Thousands of martyrs in an era,
The bones colonize and the soul rests in it.
For the sake of ideals,
In order to get rid of iron shackles and chains,
On the road of national independence and liberation,
Sacrifice in the struggle between dawn and darkness.
Zhao Bo, Wang Lushui, He Wanxiang,
Luo Binghui, Zhang Yuanshou, Ada,
From the old Eighth Route Army and the New Fourth Army of 1 15 Division to the guerrilla king,
From the famous Meng Lianggu Yuanziya to Daqingshan.
And the anti-Japanese heroine Chen Ruoke,
A prison with a daughter under the full moon;
A talented woman abandoned her pen to join the army,
Blood splashed with revolutionary partners.
We must not forget that strength of the people,
How many times, how many times,
That simple red sister-in-law, milk, pancakes, unicycle,
Dedicated to the China Revolution.
Countless names of justice,
Thousands of "anti-strangulation" movements,
Focus on an unstoppable force,
Shout for the new China in my dream.
No wonder Su Yu, a "winning general" with outstanding military achievements,
The ashes were scattered in the cemetery,
With the scenery and sleeping comrades,
I gave up my most sincere wish before I died.
When the wind blows, pine trees will burst.
The hero's fearless memory of ShaSheng is deafening;
A continuous history of behavior,
Encourage latecomers to follow suit and sail.
This is the pride of the people in the old revolutionary base areas.
This is a classic of many Yimeng spirits.
This is the weaving of the great rejuvenation of the Chinese dream.
This is the spiritual home of Chinese children.
Poems in Memory of Revolutionary Martyrs (3)
Dadada ...
You are fighting in the front line of the revolution.
Guns are your life.
It is your brush that writes about victory.
The March 8th Big Cover played the indomitable spirit of the people of China.
Millet and rifle shoot out the anger in China's soul.
The tortoise box reaped the life of the jackal fiercely.
Huo Huo Sheng Wei's broadsword dance is smart and elegant.
You defend our home with your lives.
You defended national dignity with your blood.
Blood coagulation forms a small river, named-blood soul.
All over China.
With blood and terrorblade, our territory.
Blood and soul converge into the Yellow River.
Into the hearts of thousands of people
The stubborn blood soul of dog tail grass
Fear, the wolf's guts
I don't know when the gunfire faded away.
Occasionally there are sporadic noises.
The sound is so beautiful.
Because you broke through the local defense line again.
Break through the barrier
Stand on the top of victory
Look at those unknown soldiers who dare to put their backs on their backs.
That is a kind of trust that transcends everything.
A feeling that cannot be described in words.
This is your tacit cooperation.
Is to see through each other's thoughts without words.
Those souls who fell at the foot of the mountain
Interpret a belief with one's own life-driving the wolf to devour the tiger.
The wind blew up dust and sand.
The mud sticks to your scarred body.
But I can't hide your feelings of defending your country.
How many loyal souls are buried in a foreign land
You can't see the sunrise in your hometown
I can't breathe the simple atmosphere of my hometown anymore.
Never feel tired again.
Others lost their old mother in their hometown.
There are only two words that children can never shout out-dad.
My wife is tired and can't find an arm to lean on anymore.
There is no port for boating.
Spring is coming
Your souls have become dandelion seeds.
Through the wind, your mother-in-law comforted you and returned to your hometown after a long separation.
You landed on the land you are familiar with.
Blood becomes a river-the soul of blood.
Water your tired soul.
After being nourished, you continue to sway in the fields of your hometown in spring.
Smart and brave.
Breathing the air of my hometown
Absorb sunlight from home.
You solemnly look at our comrades who are harvesting the lives of jackals.
Pray for them.
Blood and soul have flowed through countless eventful years.
It laid an indelible foundation for resisting the aggression of jackals.
You are eagles soaring in the sky, flapping your wings and flying high.
You are a civet cat in the dark, chasing ignorant mice.
You are running lions, chasing prey, and there is nowhere to hide.
You are the majestic Great Wall of Wan Li, never give up.
You are the towering Mount Tai, overlooking thousands of flies.
You are a pine tree in Nanshan, and you will be immortal.
You created brilliance with your blood.