This silent lamp, colliding black with another black
Damp. The fresh wind bends through
It wants light, it wants the seductive scent of grass
It wants the rover to gawk, to dazzle, to hold the hand of age
Walking through the square, the hillock, those shadows sprouting
Growing into hawthorns, the plains of the north
They send me my name in snow, in the barren whiteness
bringing the sound of salt as the wind bends by
running over my body from the square and its body from the hillock
We meet in darker memories Shame
We keep it old and graceful on paper
Inside, filled with shame, we
Present heaven and hell on paper
Our shame comes from being silent for too long and too deep
Our shame comes from being silent for too long and too deep<
We forgive our fragile souls in pain
We make nets on paper, hanging fish and wooden beams
Hard justice like a fishbone, stuck in our throats
The trees that we can't speak of, mercury-like
Sullen and towering darkness, which seems like a sharp edge
Times to ask for sorrow and joy with a slight reddish hue, which with me
has a A covenant of faith between life and death that hangs over my heart
It harvests my old, ripe worldliness and childishness
Left with a stainless love, a compassionate heart
Flowering between the black ink that is heavier than the blood
Hatred and sin carried in the nothingness of white paper
We are silent for too long, and our wide foreheads
Growing wrinkled and obsessed with the flesh and blood of the <
Timidity and cowardice, false screams
Fear spreads all over myself and this age
The worldliness of our dwarfism puts the kanji to shame
In the darkness, the truth forbids to be spoken
The inner confusion, what kind of bird is it
What kind of tumultuous soul should it adapt to? Soul
Ah, don't say the word to me, it makes me
Resentful of fate, shut up, fate
After years of silence, I can't find it anymore
I'm just a hollow man, already living in shame
Isn't it enough! Still accustomed to the masked
raising of hands and words, but also I have to leave behind
youth and anger, I owe a debt full of shame to my ancestors, who exchanged their blood and their lives for the motherland with their great love
but nourish me, a parasite
I touch the edge of the countryside and the city, and in the face of the remnants of
love, our Silence will be the shame that cannot be erased
I look into the clouds, the higher
overlook, the unrusted fall and iron
I am in, the widespread voiceless
crowd, the pain and anger in the silence
The tyrannical stone and iron, the words
and the fall, the thought transformation or
Physical destruction, it's armies or tanks
it's insomnia on paper, it's fines and violence
it's poverty and occupational disease ...... collapsing
power, bloodied butterflies perched on the flowers of wounds
last year it was already 10,000 trees of sadness and wind
this year a tree of melancholic hearts in the The wind turns them over
They reappear in the stone ask, this hard
and changeable heart, amongst others into the summer
Clarifies the starry nights and prophecies, the red
world elusive, in need of blood, the power
The ultra-short skirts, the faces of the second wives, her plump
hips hinting at a crisis of some sort, the moon in the rock
with acacia, you rescue a
painful and weary heart with plain and bright rhetoric
or philosophy from India, the etymology of which was originally
a vulgar political lie,, delayed fantasies
with weeping, deep in the spring, and in the winter
the heart of the matter is heavy, and there is left the blood of the summer
pressing down on our You read in the mountains
The landscape of death or life is interpreted by the water of the Duy Liu River
I have arranged many thoughts like the roadside trees on Zhang Yang Road
The past opened its fist, and God is still alive and optimistic
We bear the sorrows that he brings with our poems
The heart is indebted to the earth because of its timidity and weakness
I can't pay it back, nor can we escape it.
We can't pay it, we can't escape it, shame won't be forgiven
Just punish our destiny with self-hatred
This futile writing was originally more fragile than I am, it's like
a heavy stone weighing down, the inner restlessness
with the clamor, the whispering people, the wobbling faces of the bureaucrats
We still have to beg for food with our words and settle down
We still have to beg for food with our words, settle down
When we are ready, we are ready to wait for it. /p>
Waiting for it, to burn out our flesh and souls
Its melancholy is similar year after year, and we make words to remember things