Author: Chen Can.
A distant swaying gaze.
With a call condensed by a thick country accent.
Go home, go home for the New Year.
From village to village.
From one city to another.
From the south to the north.
From the north to the south.
Just catch a bus heading in the same direction.
Airplanes or ships.
The local sound began to ring in my ears.
No matter how far the road is. Separated by the footsteps of nostalgia.
Away from home for a long time. I can't forget the familiar countryside.
The way home is while waiting for the departure.
I have walked it in my heart a thousand times.
In fact, the journey home was not easy.
The time to return home is indeed short.
There is even more limit to what you can do during your annual leave.
Yet which branch.
I can't forget the nourishment of the roots.
Which leaf.
They all remember their yesterday.
It's the New Year, go home.
It's to listen to the dialect of your hometown.
Take a look at the village's increasingly spiritual face.
These are many words from the heart.
It is to be expressed through the vernacular.
It seems down-to-earth and natural.
Such as the thatched huts and old trees in the village.
There is also a pastoral area full of nostalgia.
In that short vacation.
Soak yourself in the flavor of the New Year.
Carefully experience the memory of childhood.
Worship a stick of incense in front of the statue of the ancestor.
Burn a few pieces of paper money at the grave of a loved one.
Indulge family affection at the reunion table.
Talk about your wishes at a friend's gathering.
Bless the coming year in the greetings of the neighbors.
Go home for the New Year.
Going home for the New Year is the descendants of Yan and Huang traveling in all directions.
Swim back to the source of life.
Let a jar of nostalgia.
Drunk your heart. Let a jar of nostalgia.
Drunk your heart. 