Made for Haizi
Nishikawa you don't have time to perfect a spring, but in a hurry lay the groundwork for singing. A holy singing is enough to destroy the singer himselfBut in your singing,We also see the sun rising and the heavens descendingand the wheat ripening in the south windand the eagle flying through the ridges of the sisters in the night. Tears. Glow. Singing in the distance. As the light darkens, the sisters return to the room where they live. The stars are to the west, and a mute looking for a soulmate comes to our world. What he sees is the old fire adding new wood, the ashes increasing the harvest of our lives, and it will be less than the loss of this night, a free and painful voice will return to silence, a free and painful voice will return to silence, merging into greater silence, and all things will develop for the night, and their dark nature will usher in the year that you are destined to do. This year, the face of the rock is full of dew, touched by you, and your death is not death but sacrifice, and your silence is not silence, but singing, and change!That's all the flesh can do, the soul ends the hatred, and the flesh doesn't know itSo he who slept in the wheat field in the middle of the nightIt will be the first grain of wheat in the granaryPeople walking on the main road during the dayThe spirits will be heard talking in the airSo under the guidance of peach blossoms and torchesThe soul has the possibility of flyingCarrying the thunder and lightning of human humiliationSo in this autumn rainy dawnI dreamed of you again, a teenagerSlap the angel's dirty rocks with your bare hands, kiss the barren soil of your hometown with your singing lipsAnd now, you should go back to your hut where the incense is burningFall in love with a girl, get married, and fallAnd to write about the despair of a genius at his leisureThe desolate sea, ** in the distance the sky is deep, and there is no heaven in sight. A vast field of wheat, a lonely man dies, a lonely man's twilight, soaked in the glow of the sun, who whispered in your ear then, saying that the time is up?Who has appeared before your eyes and opened the way for you to pass that night?Ah, the time has come—At the end of time, the dawn salutes you
What Haizi is talking about
Yu Xiuhua. Twenty years have passed, and you have digressed for thousands of miles.
The village howling in the north wind.
The north wind there will not open your grave.
Spring is coming, and no one knows.
The sails came from the sea.
No one saw it.
My village may be a similar hometown to yours
Look at the sun this afternoon
Who has become so kind
If I sit next to you
What kind of anxiety I will have
I can't tell who I am
Tied to my old locust tree.
Not your horse.
Hovering in the sky, it's not your shouting.
I'm stealing a short sentence from you
In vain to comfort me with the uneasiness of the world
Twenty years later. You, a thousand miles off topic.
A letter to another HaiziZhang Zao, don't commit suicide like him. The most worrying thing about me in the whole world is you and the lamp, you must always be vigilant about yourself, don't let go of yourself and hold yourself tightly, just like a balloon, and don't let others and cigarette butts touch youThe whole world is always trying to tear it down. The violin moved, as if to hinder the wolf's passageLooking out from the rainy April windowNeither the night nor the lotus flower will come out - the gapMore and more;Where there are birds, there are corners. The world is like thisWhy not that?It was dismantled and destroyed, but like a ping-pong ball being hit on the table, a furious goldfish jumped out of the water tank and danced on .........the concrete floor like a demonAlas, though our water no longer makes us breathe, although the stars fall in the middle of the night, although the train rushes helplessly to the next moment of sharp painBut you must live, poor childTo be alive is to shout: Eternal China!
Poetry - I would like to give this poem to HaiziWang Jiaxin.
Poetry, my hell, my poverty, my distant wind, I never came near you, my castle, my boulder poetry rolling down from the hills, my feud, my phantom, I hate you, I threw myself into you, but I was farther and farther away from you, my language slipped like a wheel, I transformed myself at an accelerated pace, poetry, my ruinsMy MirrorThe chilly atmosphere over my winter skyI wrote one painful poem after anotherBut I still can't reach youMy joyMy vanishing **Poetry, my deathMy regeneration, my miracle that no longer existsYou take everything, you are highYou lean downGive me the fatal blowNow, I am the last person in the world to pray to you.