Country Totem
(prose poem)
Text: Zhou Zheng
(Scalper)
In that place, only desolate slang grows only desolate slang.
That place only grows stories like bitter Guati.
Only generations of silent life grow. Only grow you, the melancholy scalper.
You are the mountain.
Stand up a mountain, walk up a mountain, lie down and still a mountain.
On the hill is a meadow with the bamboo flute of a shepherd boy.
You have no horns.
The horns are beaten off, and that's when your flesh and blood are just wild.
Whenever you chew on the ancient past, I look at you, you are like a person, so serious and so tenacious.
It's so much like, so much like my straw hat uncle.
Remember: the heavy rain blew up the thunder, and we knew that the youth was hiding under your belly...
Often, you pull the plough to the field, and your hooves and feet step steadily on the hard ground, and despite the whipping, you just snort roughly and work silently. But why does the black cloth still cover your eyes?
Someone said, "Otherwise, this old cow will always step on the ready-made hoof nest." ”
I listened and my heart was crying!
Later, we left, and you looked at us silently with indifferent eyes, and I saw the tears in your eyes.
Later, I heard that you were pushed off a cliff on the back slope and fell to your death!
Is it because you are too old to use it? Is it the rebellious character in your bones that touches their souls?
You are dead standing, blindfolded and dead.
Your skin is peeled off, your flesh and bones are separated, and your bright red blood stiffens into rocks!
That place, now the sound of frogs is like rain, nourishing the season of hunger and thinness.
You, on the other hand, are gone... Oh, how long have you been gone?
The stake, the reins that had strangled generations of silent life, were almost rotten. A cow flying on it, so boring, so helpless...
(Whoops)
The roar of the mountain people is the majestic mountain wind that surrounds the mountain.
With a roar, a call of closeness can be heard far away.
Like the rich emotions of the mountain people, there are many stories in the mountains.
Listening to the shouting, there are distant green mountains in the eyes, and there is a frank blue sky in the chest.
Shouting is the long whip that rings on the head of the cultivating cow; the roar is the sound of the long rope crushing the reels; the roar is the trumpet that strengthens life... Throw the roar up the mountain, and the mountain people who cultivate in the mountains shake the sun with cowbells and harvest the fiery autumn; the roar flows down the river, and the women of huanyi village shake away their hot feelings and wash their lives sweet and sweet.
Shout, not afraid of the wind and rain wet wings, wet can also fly far, very far... Because, with a roar of pride, the whole mountain echoed!
(Stove fire)
At dusk, the sun rolled down from the top of the mountain and rolled into the farmhouse stove pond, and the sun rose in the stove pond and flashed
The sun warms the cold night of the mountain village.
The sun is warm! The stove fire is warm! Surrounded by a fire, around a fiery red crackling sun. The old woman used the twine to absorb life, and absorbed a ray of sunshine. Dad weaves light with straw rope (the meaning of the story of the glue oriental dialect) and weaves pieces of sunshine. Later students used computers to type the language and wrote pastoral poems. What about children? Their sunshine is in the stove fire, and the fragrance of sweet potatoes has filled the five viscera...
In the stove pond, the fire was gradually extinguished, but the sun of the farmhouse did not set, and it was rising in the dreams of the people in the mountains!
(Flower Drum)
Pick up the oval ball obliquely, and your spirit rises!
Hands and feet, they danced in the land of Tai Chi.
As soon as the hammer was struck, there was a flurry of words to wake up...
A drum, an empty valley, into the farmhouse all the foot sounds.
The drummer with the red belt around his waist, his head high, his whole body trembling, was intoxicated by the rumbling sound of marching.
Drums with people's excitement, grains of gold.
The drums are red-hot sorghum wine.
The sound of drums is the roar of spiritual flesh.
A hammer shatters a despicable that cannot be chewed.
A hammer slammed a dumb thunder.
Beat the wet days! Ring out the days of deafness! Ring yourself up! Ring the land! The drummer's gaze was raised. Just look at the sun overhead. His mysterious appearance, no one can guess!
The sound of drums creates an avenue for farmers.
Avenue through the sky! Ring! Ring!
The drums are too strong and too heavy.
My sky, a drum hanging alone!
(Township Snow)
Transparent wings, dense with a fresh and textured language.
The birds in the trees hint at the indefatigable fragrance, and those excellent plants fly in the holy sun.
(Cocoon)
The simple cocoon is stacked from the full autumn, and the colorful years form a rural plate painting, happiness is like a snowflake quietly opening in ordinary days.
The land grows with verdant dreams, and folk songs dance in the light of eternal sweat.
(Yikes)
Sing a long watch in the image of fire.
We snuggle in the embrace of our homeland, brush away the faint sadness on our lips, and twist the song of big red and green into a fiery flame, interpreting the vicissitudes. The sun, the snow and the village; the song, the people and the humanity. In our pious admiration, the color glows with dignity.
(Winter Tree)
The trees in winter, peeled naked by the harsh winter, still stand tall against the wind.
Although the green leaves are gone, the heart is constantly beating, flashing green hope and splendor.
In the wind, I heard the whispers of the winter trees: Life, there are thousands of reasons, choose sunshine, choose flowers, choose love and joy, but there is no reason to choose pain and death.
When death holds you, as long as the body does not fall, the spirit will stand up to the sky and never die!
One point number Zhou Zheng literature column