殇
The east wind came, the cry of the flowers, that is
The solace that the March sun can't reach
An old man, an old tree with a crooked neck, one
The hunchbacked old house, next to the deserted firewood stack
Faintly heard
Liu Di's complaint.
The dilapidated courtyard, the ownerless peach and plum, stubborn
Full bloom. Outside the wall, there are wild fields of rape flowers
One behind the house
Grave by grave.
The balcony of the high-rise building overlooks the distance, and the smoke cage is foggy locked
The rain of Qingming is wet and the dust of the homecoming, through
Thirty years of wind and rain have been passed
March is full of memories of incense remains
Where is your hometown?
Where are your loved ones?
He and I whether
Don't come unharmed?
Growing old faces, increasingly barren land
Occasional smoking tombs
There we are
An insoothing sob.
The bird's wings of the soul do not move, far away
Words from the clouds
Pale and feeble verses, full
Crappy rhetoric
O hometown, you gave me the beginning, me
Also you end, just put the drift
Keep it to yourself
When my tired body is no longer nostalgic for the red dust
The soul will sit and cry for you
Eternal sleep in your bosom
Let the autumn leaves cover
In the spring, the grass is barren
depend on
I have been looking for the beginning of the world, but I have unconsciously walked to the end. The wind passed through his chest, the ash blinded his eyes, and the footless clouds were still wandering. A lone tree, slim in the empty wasteland. Looking up, there was a blankness, and looking back was a sense of despair. I felt like I was alone, and the only figure that followed me was my figure.
Where I came from and where I am going, the parents who brought me are long gone. They said I picked it up, and I was convinced of that. The appearance of every life is accidental, and the probability is smaller than that of a meteorite landing. Standing in front of their tombs, it was as if there were two worlds. There is only one door in the human world, which is red dust when it is opened, and the netherworld when it is closed.
The sea is blue because of the sky, the sky is deeper because of the water, and you and I are stupid because of love. Those who have hurt me are far away, and those I have hurt are secretive. I'm very close to the world, but far away from you, how difficult is it to learn communication and respect between people? I don't want to start all over again, I never wish I was.
Life is a long-distance bus, and many people get on and off the bus every day. I met you in the warm carriage, just at the right time, you met me properly. This intertwining of fates stems from the illusion of overlapping time with each other. You don't have to care if I go, and I won't cry when you go.
In the body of the foster care of the world, there are interesting souls hidden. They are different, but they all try to dress up their lives, even if they are born like ants, they also want to dream of the sky. In this helpless world, learn to rate yourself. Let the sunshine outside the heart come in, and if there is more light, the darkness will be reduced by one point.
Life is like a candle, burning years, with both light and heat, ash and tears. Although the universe is large, it cannot hold thoughts, and although the earth is small, it feeds all living beings. The flesh will eventually rot, and the soul will be gone, but your wisdom and shadow will live forever.
Time flies fast enough, too fast to think about it, time flies slowly enough for me to miss my whole life.
Author: Hua Ling, formerly known as Liang Chenghao, male, Han nationality, born in 1974, from Wolong District, Nanyang City, Henan Province. He is a contemporary Chinese avant-garde poet, a cutting-edge writer, and a columnist of the Reading Sleep Poetry Society. He is now a local village doctor. The first collection of poems, Love Songs and Lamentations, was successfully published in Henan Zhongzhou Ancient Books Publishing House in April 2015, and won the silver medal of the third New Poet Award held by the Chinese Poetry Society in Beijing in June of that year, and the bronze medal of the second Red Sorghum PEN Club in Qingdao in August. The second collection of poems, "Beauty Snake", is also being planned for publication.
Image: Photo by Reading Sleep Poet.
Face the sea and look for the light with your black eyes. Founded on November 16, 2015, the Poetry Club takes "speaking for grassroots poets" as its mission and promoting the "spirit of poetry" as its purpose, that is, the pursuit of truth, goodness and beauty of poetry, the artistic innovation of poetry, the spiritual pleasure of poetry, and the revelation of poetry to living life. He has published a collection of poems co-authored by poets, "Reading Selected Sleep Poems: Spring Warm Flowers" and "Reading Sleep Selected Poems: The Grass Grows and the Warbler Flies". Poetry friends have been working hard, the poetry club is forging ahead, constantly innovating, recommending excellent poems, producing high-quality poetry collections, reciting excellent works, recommending poets' works in various forms, so that more people can read excellent works and appreciate poetry culture, we are on the move!