On such a beautiful day
I looked out of the window leisurely.
I can see her, too
She is in my imaginary window.
I hope she is at the window, too.
Support a plump chin with your hands.
And her gentle eyes
Immersed in thoughts.
In her missing eyes
Reflect a boundless sky.
The color of that day
It is as green as a dream.
Above the blue sky
White clouds are floating.
Track that cloud.
She can see my shadow.
Yes, she can see me.
It is also on such a day.
Because I also live in
In the window of her fantasy
I love this land.
If I were a bird,
I should also sing with a hoarse throat:
This land hit by the storm,
This river of sadness and anger will surge forever,
This endless wind,
And the gentle dawn from the forest ...
And then I died,
Even feathers rot in the ground.
Why do I often cry?
Because I love this land deeply. ...
life
sometimes
I stretched out a naked arm.
Lie flat on the wall
Colour a piece of chalk.
Show off the health of ochre.
Blue rivers flow on the earth.
Blue blood vessels are beating in my arms.
Five fingers
This is five bottles of fresh red wine.
It's spinning inside.
The blood of the land cultivator
I know
This is life.
Let the pain of love and the melancholy of life
Let it bear the burden,
Let it breathe in
Under the cold plow yoke of this century,
Let it exult, worry, laugh and cry,
It will inspire itself.
Until you fall!
That's right.
According to my wish
On the day of expectation
Will also use their own tragic ash.
Get out of the background
The bright red of the newborn.
Pond in winter
Ponds in winter,
Lonely as an old man's heart—
A painstaking effort that has experienced the world;
Ponds in winter,
As dry as an old man's eyes—
Worn by hard work;
Ponds in winter,
As barren as an old man's hair—
Hair is as thin and gray as frost grass.
Ponds in winter,
As gloomy as a sad old man—
An old man hunched his back under a gloomy sky.