Migrant workers
- Dedicated to urban builders
For the call of the sun
We were the first to go out into the countryside
To connect urban and rural areas
At the intersection of the line of sight that is hoped to extend
We settle down
The cornerstone of modern civilization
Give happiness to the mansion
Give it baby-like bright eyes
And we were naked
Let the wind and frost rain and snow alternately flap
We hand over the street
Hand over the stereoscopic cross bridge
The path left to itself is a scaffolding of crisscrosses
We build docks to build roaring factories
Build shops and labs
Build the necessary steps and open windows
And give the roof to the microwave band
Leave it to Vega and the myth of beauty
We gasped, we sang
We are sons of the sky and the earth
We feed ourselves with the sweat we shed
Nurturing and thriving today
We stand taller than our great ancestors
Our hearts rise and fall sharply with the piling machine
It's not time that's heavy
We stretch out the long arms of the tower crane that our ancestors did not have
Not all the time
Construction is being demolished and construction is being built
There is no fixed pattern
Drawings are bold fantasies
There is no standard height
Our profession is endless climbing
We came and went
What remains is city after city and monument
But we never stayed
The name of any member of our family
Because commemoration belongs only to the past
Our career stretches like a road
There is no end
There's only the beginning
Poplar praise
Bones and muscles are like iron
A majestic symphony plays inside
The palm of the blood reached out to the sky
The solemn years cover the wasteland
Yellow sand is like smoke
The only rain was lighting
The green of the morning star
Sip the wind and sand
The banner of life
Polish your soul over and over again
A cold, wordless wasteland
Just choose such a heavy iron road
Towards the glory and tragedy of life
Hunting in the wind
I was silent with tears in my eyes
Listen to your labor pains and screams
Blood and bones are permanently illuminated
Like the sun, let us be close to you
Touch you repeatedly
A torso and integrity that has been through the vicissitudes
Foot on the wasteland
I see your arms waving and your soul trembles
With eager eyes
Greet the sonorous and powerful pace of new settlers
About the Author
Kuang Tianlong, a member of the Chinese Writers Association and a native of Jingzhou City, Hubei Province, is currently the principal of Jinhuo School in Guangzhou, Guangdong Province. He is the author of several books. Poetic view: Poetry is interesting for the soul to tell.