Ai Qing
If I were a bird, I would also sing with a hoarse throat.
This land hit by the storm, this river of sadness and anger that is always surging, and this angry wind that blows endlessly.
And the tender 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. .....
Second, "missing"
Shu Ting
A colorful wall chart with no lines, an algebra with no solution, a dulcimer, a string of beads touching the rain and dew on the eaves, and a pair of paddles that can't reach the other shore.
Buds generally wait silently, and the sunset generally looks into the distance, perhaps hiding an ocean.
But all I shed was two tears.
Ah, in the distance of the soul, in the depths of the soul.