Three Rhymes of the First Moon (Prose Poem)
Text/Tang Songbo
Chinese New Year's Eve
Chinese New Year's Eve, every year as expected, it blooms like a flower in the hearts of the elderly and children. The wanderers in the distance will return at this time like swallows in love with the nest, heading in the direction of home.
Chinese New Year's Eve is like a big tree, and the root of that big tree is the home where the elder and the young are reunited. Under the big tree, there is a sumptuous Chinese New Year's Eve rice, and the Chinese New Year's Eve rice is filled with stories of the family planting spring and autumn harvest. A Chinese New Year's Eve meal, eating the parents' short, eating sweet and sour, bitter and spicy, eating the Spring Festival Gala that meets every year, eating the happiness and ease of the reunion year, eating the happy taste of the long-term reunion, and also eating the infinite vision of the future life.
In the New Year, a pair of Yin Hong's Spring Festival, written with people's prayers and hopes for the coming year; the New Year, one eye-catching New Year painting after another rejoiced with grain abundance, flowers blooming and rich; New Year's Day, the window flowers reflected spring, the word Fu came to the door, and the sound of firecrackers bid farewell to the old year; the New Year, lanterns hung high, the door god nursing home, and households auspicious to welcome the New Year.
Chinese New Year's Eve worship the ancestors, inherit the family style, drink water and think of the source.
Chinese New Year's Eve years, full of spring, children rejoice.
Chinese New Year's Eve night, we kept vigil. On such a night, the heart is warm, even the mountains are a thousand weights, and the water is also a thousand weights.
Chinese New Year's Eve night, we kept vigil. On such a night, they guard the gentle clouds of their hometown and whisper the wind; they keep the rules of being a human being, and they keep the simple and kind human feelings and sophistication; and they also keep the ancient customs and the culture left by their ancestors that are integrated into the blood.
Chinese New Year's Eve night, we have been awake, and the ancestors must have been awake in the love of our vigil... All the past, all the hesitations, will be calmed down before dawn.
Spring Festival
It is best to use the word grand to praise the Spring Festival.
Year after year, the Spring Festival, when the bells of the New Year ring, will drive the moonlight and dew to the world.
The Spring Festival has arrived, the willow eyes are relaxed, and the peach cheeks are red.
The Spring Festival has arrived, and it is a blessing to bow your hands and pray to the New Year.
Spring Festival has arrived, firecrackers can talk, sleeping mountains have woken up, sleeping rivers have woken up, sleeping seeds have woken up. The door knocker is lightly buckled, the dog barks and the chicken chirps, the spring breeze is rippling, and the birds are crisp. The sun suddenly became charming, people held hands and ran, frolicking with their hearts, shouting with all their might, and new cooking smoke grew on the roof of the garden in the rolling eyes of the spring water.
When the Spring Festival arrives, the spring water flows through the door of the house, like a mirror, illuminating the new festival and the old mother.
Spring Festival, live in the folk. Living in the red-hot Chinese knots, in the fragrant dumplings, in the amazing paper-cuts, in the joyful stilts, in the vision of Guotai Min'an.
The sound of gongs and drums, dragons flying lion dances, streets, alleys, villages and villages, everywhere is covered with the shadow of the Spring Festival rhythm. That distant or nearby blessing is enough to make people step by step in the spring breeze and full of peach blossoms.
The Spring Festival, like a flower, lives in my heart. The orchid leaves, the wine is mellow, and a year of acacia and waiting are walking on the road again.
Spring Festival, living in people's lingering memories. It is a beautiful poem, it is a moving song. Even if one day, this wonderful poem and moving song will grow old in the wind and rain and smoke, and the Spring Festival is still the nostalgia that will never rust outside the dream.
Lantern Festival
The first full moon night of the spring moon is the Lantern Festival. On this night, on the back of the fish-scale tile, there must be a round and bright moon that has come to the appointment.
The place loved by the moon is also my cherished rural hometown, the rural hometown permeated with ancient winds. As night fell, the door painted red opened, and the fresh door was crowded with fresh people, fresh people saying fresh words, those words with an earthy smell, naturally fresh blessings and fresh wishes.
Illuminated auspicious lanterns hang high on the eaves, and couplets that sound spring flood are attached vertically to the pillars.
The crackling red firecrackers of the earth are telling the scene of the harvest year. In the scene of the harvest year, there is a Lantern Festival that is gently shaken by the spring breeze and dazzled by the flower lanterns.
Folk customs, that is, ancient customs. Ancient style, but also nostalgia. A bowl of Lantern is enough to make the sadness of looking at the hometown disappear. A bowl of Lantern is enough to make the hot moonlight shine through the heart. Hometown, in a bowl full of Lanterns. Hometown, just in the bright moon at the beginning of the Lantern Festival.
The Lantern is the call of the sunset.
The Lantern is a dream wrapped in the morning light.
The Lantern is a coast of tidal attachment.
The Lantern Festival is a stage where the soul rises.
...... I'm looking. Follow your lens to find the children who belong to the Lantern.
The children frozen in the lens are the flowers bred by the lantern with bright light.
These flowers, unrestrained, bloom in the alleys, full of riddles, full of covered bridges.
They, like me, heard the heartbeat of the earth and met the dance of flames at the beginning of the year. I touched the footsteps of time and smelled the spring that was gradually approaching the fragrance of the belly.
I know that in such a happy and happy moment, the children have left me the most innocent smiles and innocent eyes of the water spirit in the countryside, and also left it to the eternal Lantern Festival of the people. When the butterflies sing, their song platform must be boundless. The mystery that will be revealed in their hearts will be the ancient wind that carries thousands of years, leads the whole world, through the wind and rain, and step by step towards the vastness they yearn for.
Tang Songbo, a native of Xinning, Hunan. Contemporary poet and lyricist. He is a member of the Chinese Writers Association, a member of the Chinese Musicians Association, and a vice chairman of the Guangxi Musicians Association. The first batch of Guangxi cultural masters and "four batches" of talents.
He is the author of 10 monographs, including the poetry collection "Oriental Constellation", "The Wind Blows Through the Hometown" and the music album "Touch Time". His poetry works have been selected into various anthologies such as "Chinese Poetry Ranking", "Selected Prose Poems of The Year in China", "Guangxi Multi-ethnic Literature Classics", "21st Century Poetry Ranking", music textbooks for higher art colleges and universities, and the Spring Festival Gala of the Ministry of Culture of CCTV. He has won the "October" Poetry Award, the "Feitian" Ten Years Literary Award, the Guangxi Literary and Art Creation Bronze Drum Award, the Guangxi "Five One Project Award", the "Five One Project Award" of the Central Committee of the Communist Youth League, and the nomination of the China Quyi Peony Award. The musical work "Set Sail" was selected for the "Socialist Core Values" theme exhibition song of the Central Civilization Office, and "Butterfly Flying" was staged at the National Centre for the Performing Arts.