Walker
Yao Hongbin
One
Like the spring rains of February, soaking in the quiet wilderness. It's the messy footprints in the mud; it's the wrinkles on the forehead.
If it is a small hut, the fireworks of the cooking, it is even more than your foolish laughter.
In the embrace of your calloused hands, I was naked, feeling your heartbeat, leading my curious desire to pluck the strings of inquiry with crying.
Two
Nestled in tattered swaddling, lying among the displaced and needy crowds. It is like feeling the sun bathing, like a song from the most distant and sacred palace.
You say that my tone of voice is like the lights in the night, constantly beating, letting the Buddha break free from the cage of darkness.
At the moment when you got up, I let go of the Buddha and saw your sad eyes. It's helplessness to me, it's to me: "Oh, this is your destiny."
Three
Bonfire, bonfire is rising! It seems to be about to erode the endless darkness of the village.
The loud voice is like the most pious prayer of the holy believers: Gracious Jehovah, we are your most faithful messenger to the earth.
The flickering flames, the misty water vapor, are your elaborate gifts.
You say, "When you are poor, see the world in a kaleidoscope." ”
I was too young – I didn't understand what it meant.
But I had an impulse—I wanted to break free of my arms and go to the end of the darkness, and raise another bunch of campfires.
Four
This is your kingdom, the most primitive tribe that lives. Like the pearl of HaoHai, it shows the most agile technique of the founder.
It's a perfect masterpiece that I can't covet.
I had to fold my hands and confess to you—I ended up peeking into your temple.
The sun was obscured by dark clouds, and the rain kept falling. I don't know what's going on in your heart, just the death-style grief in the corner of your eye.
I scraped the dirt with both hands and looked for the remains of the sacred fruit that the poisonous snake had swam. Let the black liquid squirm through my throat. You smiled and said that this was the pain I had to endure.
Five
Blood is rolling and souls are suffering. I don't know how to save myself? Only exhausted all the strength of the body, hysterical roar.
But the hoarseness melted into the empty tears until there was no movement at all.
This is the most enlightened declaration of death, and then conquest.
Six
You're right next to me, and I can feel it. Like a night without a moon, I still know that the sky has the existence of the past.
This is your cushion, I don't understand why you are worshipping yourself?
You sit on the edge of the bed and read it for me, and a picture begins to swell.
There, the awakened seabirds sang at dawn, swept up the blue waves, and rolled freely layer by layer.
The joy of rebirth poured out of the corners of my eyes like a torrent、、、
Seven
I seemed to see the stars in the sky, shining with pure white brilliance, wandering away, wandering in the vast and deep space.
Yesterday the white dove stopped on my windowsill, with the oldest, most sacred calling. Let me cross the stream and cross the fields to go on a date far away.
It is this call to the depths of the soul, like a flood that breaks the dike, free to run around. Began to pour into my dry heart.
Eight
You sit silently, in a sculptural posture. I let the Buddha see your body and bless the blessings of the gods. I want to bathe my whole body, kneel before you, and do the most holy worship — O my Lord!
In your gaze, there is still a faint pulsation of wisps, is it to penetrate the heavens and the earth, to the distant sky?
Who knows how you're going to tell me. There, the dream is intertwined with the ocean, and there will be light blue milk flowing.
Nine
Dreams, my dreams, dreams that devour darkness, dreams that tear through the dawn, dreams that reveal the truth!
Oh, noble you, the future is your time. Sing your melody with exciting songs, with tender tones, with moving dazzling tones, my dream!
At that time, the universe was shining. The whole day, the whole night, everything is illuminated by light.
At that time, the opera was sung in Sanskrit, and the soul would no longer be bound in any way.
In the flickering of the lights, we talked all night, believing that no one in the world knew what kind of ideal country we would go to.
Ten
When the first rays of dawn come, the journey we have agreed to explore is far from the beginning, and it is also the end.
Screens, where are the screens? Block the blowing wind, it has a mixture of fine sand, which will blind all the eyes of probing.
Here it is, like a weak piece of white paper. Oh, it is better to set it on fire, and perhaps the ashes will be burned clean.
Sorrow wanders in my heart, and even in my dreams, there will be a call of pity.
Shouldn't I have condensed a rocky knife that pierced deep into my heart and made the blood flush red along the hilt until there was no longer a whiff in my pulse.
Eleven
In the long journey, it is impossible to do without songs, and in the most down-to-earth and despicable encounters, we must still sing the lead singers of God. It is like a holy word in the mouth of a pedantic master. Do you insist on wearing a garland of golden light until the end?
Are you still creaking tiredly, your perfect feat? In the Gobi without water, oh, there is your glorious image.
I should light a candle in the night, sit among the people without thinking, and carefully observe your greatness together. Then sigh and exclaim, "What a magical creation this is!" ”
It is better to light you with a fire, and it is better for the wind to sweep away your ashes. I will sing out loud with joy – your thousand years of waste have trapped the progress of the entire era!
twelve
Oh my Lord, the world is wrapped in paper, light it up with a raging fire!
This is your reed flute, melting all the pilgrimage music with the hoarseest of sounds, letting the wind sweep through the humid air to lighten the load of space.
Forge a strong chain with flesh and blood, forge with soul, and tie the two most distant plates. What kind of grand event should this be to create a new continent?
To be spurned, or praised, is not enough to die without a hint of death!
thirteen
This is your cave and this is your stay.
Curious, I lit a torch and gently slid my fingers across the cold stone wall. Savor the oldest, most primitive and innocent picture carved on it, what a sense of happiness it is.
The mysterious rune, like a ghost, was engraved in the depths of the dark corner. Unfortunately, my torch is about to burn out.
If the sun can shine, what a civilization it will be!
fourteen
On the surface of this seemingly calm sea, the undercurrent has long begun to surge.
Dusk is coming, do you still have any work to do? The altar has been erected, so lift the flower basket and scatter the tear-soaked petals! It was the final kiss goodbye to the light.
In the long corridors, the night is endless and endless. Do you want to carry a lamp to the roof? Look out, or look down!
Oh, my companion, are you already asleep? This unusual night is as peaceful as usual. However, in an instant, I was thrilled.
fifteen
Is it time? Should we stick to our posts, or should we take a shovel and sneak into the city? Cut off the stone slabs, crawl on this bloated land, listen quietly, and the breath of the earth will be buried for a thousand years.
This will reflect what a sad age it is—the merciless whipping of the slave owner; the weak and lowly call of the slave.
There, who will have the senseless courage to stand at the end of the rope, loudly rebuking the darkness of the times and calling for the freedom of humanity?
You kissed me lightly on the forehead and spread your hands. For the first time, I tasted your tears, tears of helpless despair, tears of pain through my heart!
sixteen
Oh my Lord, wake them up from their slumber! Disaster is coming, everything will be in ruins, everything will be submerged.
Lead their hearts to the dark night sky and cast immeasurable light!
At the bottom of the abyss, liberate those humble souls and sow the seeds of love, which will be a holy place of light in the coming year.
Through winding and rugged mountain paths, over barren and secluded forests, where the sun rises, build golden barriers and carve love and hope with blood.
seventeen
Shoot out the sun-like brilliance from your eyes! Go through the pitch-black space and sing freely like a wave in the deepest part of the universe.
Under the lush trees, listen quietly, and the old people will flow out of what a beautiful picture. Listen, even if the tears are flowing.
At the top of a towering mountain, bow down and worship, the call of God will be heard, and the soul will be guided by you again.
Build me a car, I'm going to the end of the horizon, where the sun goes down, mapping the ruts.
eighteen
There, the world shone with golden light, and hope was everywhere.
There, the water is a rainbow-like color.
There, all the songs flowed from the depths of the soul.
There, beauty can be touched with a finger.
There, lies are nowhere to be hidden, and words are spoken from the truth.
There, the flames are raised high, warming all lonely and helpless hearts and reaching the harbor of Truth.
nineteen
Who wouldn't have known that this was a conventional world—dreams rushing through the rivers of reality, stirring up no longer great waves; light lying in the dark clouds, sprinkled no longer blazing.
Each starting point eventually reaches an end point.
It was time to fold your hands again and pray quietly. The vast sea is gradually calming down, looking at the road that has left footprints, laugh loudly, laugh from the bottom of your heart, my Lord!
"The walker has to enter every intersection to feel his way home; only when the musician has practiced each note can he play a beautiful and extreme movement."
"Yes!"
twenty
In the afterglow of the setting sun, I listened quietly, it was the whisper of the tide, leaning over, shouting "My Lord, Fatherly Lord!" ”
Is my journey coming to an end? You finally leave quietly. Should our agreement be broken? Should I cry, complain about the endless sorrows of my journey, or sing aloud about the joys of the accident?
Oh my Lord, do one last thing for me – let me go home!
There, does the water still see the mountain?
There, will there be a new dream?
Is it already a new civilization there? O my Lord!
END
About the Author:
Yao Hongbin, pen name: Tang Cheng, a rural teacher in Qingshui County, Gansu Province, this group of prose poems is a 20-year-old who has a feeling on the road of chasing dreams, singing the praises of hope and struggling in hope and despair.