Author: Ai Qing

I often dream about my father recently. His face has never been "kind".

He showed me "forgiveness" and his words were so gentle.

It seems that all his pains are to protect his son.

Last spring, he wrote to me several times, hoping that I would go back with a sad heart.

He wanted to tell me something important, something about land and property:

But I didn't leave for my hometown against his will.

I am afraid that the responsibility given to me by a family will ruin my young life.

On pomegranate flower day in May, he left this world in disappointment.

I am his first son. He was twenty-one years old when he gave birth to me.

It was the last year of the Qing Dynasty, and I was studying in a middle school.

He looks gentle and honest, wearing a robe and pigtails.

Fat body, reddish-brown complexion,

The eyes are round and prominent, and the ears are stuck behind the cheeks.

People say that this is a "blessing", so he should "keep his place".

Satisfied with their own "eight characters", living an ordinary and mediocre life,

Smoking hookah, drinking yellow wine,

Lying on the bamboo bed watching Strange Tales from a Lonely Studio, telling the story of banshee and fox.

My grandfather died when he was sixteen;

My grandmother is a child bride and is often bullied by my grandfather's little wife.

My uncle is an opium smoker, presiding over the "flower party" and playing with women;

But he, my father, learned to be a man from "self-cultivation" and "ambition"-

A good son for a mother and a good husband for a wife.

I accepted Liang Qichao's thought and knew that "there is no end to world progress".

He became a believer of "reformists", and in that poor village, he cut off his black braid for the first time.

Readers of Oriental Magazine, subscribers of Shenbao, members of the World Savings Association,

There is a bell in front of the hall and a Mobil lamp in the room.

There are shops left by my great grandfather in the town-Beijing goods, foreign goods, grain and wine, which are "all available".

It supplies clothes, daily necessities and refreshments to our family, and takes anything we want with the passbook;

39 shop assistants were busy for 360 days, and the owner took all the profits in the New Year.

There are hundreds of acres of land in the village, and dozens of tenants surround him.

There are four farm labourers, a handmaid and an old maid in the family every year.

All this tells him about his leisure. No fanaticism! Dare not take risks!

Establish a "new family" according to your hobbies,

Send your daughter to a missionary school and urge your son to read English.

By flogging and flogging his children, he became a tyrant in his family.

Thrift is the dogma he gave us, and obedience is the classic he gave us.

More importantly, we should study hard and pay close attention to our achievements.

He knows that knowledge is useful-one can decorate the facade and the other can defend the property.

These are his distinguished guests: retired army major general,

Chinese teachers in provincial middle schools, students in law departments and economics departments of universities,

And the town sergeant, and the county magistrate.

I often look at the world map, meteorology and stars.

From the theory of evolution, we know that monkeys are the ancestors of human beings;

But when they sacrifice, they pretend to be pious,

His heart is very clear:

For those who pay taxes to him, the statue of Yan Luowang and Vidal's theory are more useful.

Looking forward to "progress" feebly and welcoming "revolution" coldly,

He knew it was a "trend", but he avoided the impulse and stood watching from a distance.

1926. The National Revolutionary Army started from the south.

After my hometown, I wanted to take the "Huangpu" exam at that time.

But he was silent, misty-eyed, and did not answer.

Revolution is like a storm, it comes and goes.

Countless young and brave people made a drink offering of the times.

After witnessing all the horror and sadness, my heart is like a ship without sails, floating in the ocean of anxiety and confusion.

Landlords all want their sons to get rich and become officials. They want their son to study economics and law;

But I dipped my brush in color to draw a landscape and a hardworking farmer.

Young people's fantasies and enthusiasm often encourage me to leave my family;

In order to go to a distant place and a city, I used countless utilitarian words to defraud my father's sympathy.

One night, he took out a thousand-dollar eagle ocean from under the floor.

Hands trembling, surly, while counting money, a way:

"You will come back in a few years, don't forget it!"

He sent me to the village when I left.

I dare not think with my head. He gave me the weight I wanted.

My heart just urges myself:

"Get out of here-this barren field, this humble village, wandering alone, wandering freely!"

A few years later, a melancholy shadow returned to this aging village.

Empty hands, nothing-except rebellion and books,

And those fanatical paintings, and the deep and humiliating hatred of a colonial people.

In July, I was put in prison, and in August, I was sentenced to prison;

Because of the despair of his son, the father cried all night.

In those dark years, he always used gentle letters,

Call me a role model for my younger siblings and follow the wishes of my family.

I also captured my heart with the old saying, lingering feelings and arranged happiness.

When I regained my freedom, he eagerly looked forward to my return.

He sent it to me, just enough for the trip home.

He repeated these words to me (God knows where he got them! )

China has no bourgeoisie, no American-style big enterprises,

He said, "I have never oppressed my buddy. If they really want revolution, what will they do to me? "

So, he set up a tent, spread out a thick rent book, and smiled kindly in his eyes.

While fiddling with the abacus. While urging me to pay attention to the future of my sister in law in a low voice.

But he finally got angry-frowning and biting his lower lip with his teeth.

He looked sad and knocked on the table with his knuckles.

He hates his son's indifferent attitude and regards his family as an inn for travel and rest.

Look at one's ancestors with filthy eyes.

I left my village again in order to save myself from the ruins and pursue a perfect ideal.

Even if my heels are covered with blood, I won't stop moving forward.

My father passed away. He died of bloating.

From then on, he will never blame me again. what can I say? He is the most mediocre person;

Because I was timid, I was able to hold my position. In the most turbulent times, I lived the most peaceful life.

Like countless landlords in China, they are gentle, conservative, stingy and complacent.

Imagine that poor little village as an eternal kingdom.

Accept the legacy of his ancestors and leave it to his descendants,

Never decreased, nor increased!

That's why I sympathize with him.

Now my father has been lying quietly in the mud. At his funeral,

I didn't lift the coffin for him, and I didn't refuse to wear linen clothes;

I ran in the war of liberation and fireworks with a hoarse voice.

My mother wrote to me and asked me to deal with the aftermath at home.

I don't want to bury myself, it's against her will.

Thanks to the encouragement of the war, I went to my hometown in the opposite direction-

Because of me, since I knew.

There are better ideals in this world, and what I want to serve is not my home.

But it belongs to everyone, a sacred belief.

2. Mother's Poems

Author: Chile-mistral

Be kissed

I became a different person after being kissed: I became a different person because of the pulse synchronized with my pulse and the smell detected from my breath. Now my stomach is as high as my heart. ...

I even found a scent of flowers in my breath: it was all because that little thing was lying in my body like dew on the grass!

What will he look like?

What he'll look like. I stared at the petals of a rose for a long time and touched them happily: I hope his little face is as beautiful as petals. I play in the intertwined blackberries, because I hope his hair is black and curly like that. However, I don't care if his skin is as black and red as the clay that potters like, and his hair is as straight as my life.

I overlook the valley. When the fog covers there, I imagine the fog as the silhouette of a girl, a very lovely girl, because it may also be a girl.

But most importantly, I hope his eyes are as sweet as that person's and his voice is as trembling as what that person said to me, because I hope to pin my love on him for the person who kissed me.

sweet

The child I am pregnant is asleep, and my steps are quiet. Ever since I was pregnant with this mysterious thing, my whole mood has been pious.

My voice is gentle, as if with silent love, because I am afraid to wake him up.

Now my eyes look for inner pain in people's faces, so that others can see and understand the reason why I look pale.

I carefully pulled down the grass where quails built their nests. I walked gently in the field. I believe that trees also have sleeping children, so I bow my head to protect them.

Eternal pain

If he suffers on me, I will be pale; I feel pain for his secret oppression. The slightest activity of a person I can't see may kill me, but don't think that I am inextricably linked with him only when I am pregnant with him.

When he walks freely in the field, even if he is far away from me, the wind blowing on him will tear my flesh, and his cry will be shouted through my voice. My crying and laughing are based on your face, my child.

Images of the earth

I have never seen a real image of the earth before. The earth looks like a woman with a child in her arms.

I gradually understand the maternal nature of things. Overlooking my mountain, it is also my mother. At dusk, the mist plays on her shoulders and knees like a child.

Now I think of the valley. The running water at the bottom of the stream is covered with thorns, but it can't be seen, only songs can be heard.

I am also like a valley; I feel a trickle singing in my depths, covered by thorns in my body, and I haven't seen the light yet.

To her husband.

Honey, don't hold me tight. You let him float deep in my body like a lily in the water. Let me stay like still water.

Love me, give me more love! How petite I am, I will always be with you; How pitiful I am, I give you eyes and lips to enjoy the pleasure of the world; How fragile I am, love will make me crack like a clay pot and pour out the wine of life.

Forgive me! I was all thumbs when I poured you wine; It is you who have enriched me into what I am now, and you have made my behavior so strange.

Yeah, I'm better than before. Don't disturb my blood urgently, and don't excite my breathing.

Now I'm just a veil; My whole body is just a gauze curtain, under which a child sleeps!

dawn

I tossed and turned all night, and I trembled all night to give gifts. My forehead is covered with the sweat of death; No, not death, but life!

God, in order to make him born smoothly, I call you infinitely sweet now.

When I was born, my painful breath rose to dawn and I joined the birds.

Sacred law

People say that after giving birth, life is weakened in me, and my blood flows out of the juicer like grape juice; But I just feel comfortable with my breath!

I asked myself, "Who am I, with a child on my knee?"

I answered myself: "A loving person, when kissed, her love demands eternity."

The earth looked at me with her child in her arms and blessed me, because I was as rich as the apple of my eye.

3. Mother

Author: Bing Xin

Mom!

The wind and rain in the sky are coming,

The bird hides in its nest;

The storm in my heart is coming,

I only hide in your arms.

4. "Mother"

Author: Liu Zhenkai

A mother is a child's eternal home.

As long as the mother is here, the child has a sense of belonging.

If the mother is gone, the mother who returns to Daoshan will also knock on the door of our memory.

Mother's endless civilian feelings and her generous smile have solidified into eternity.

The word "mother" will always be written in the sky of our memory.

Motherly love is like a sacred place that people look up to through the ages;

Motherly love is like the rushing fire of life.

As a child, even if you are 70 or 80 years old,

The complex of maternal love is always inseparable.

5. "Mother"

Author: Guatemala-asturias

Mom, I bless you, because you know how to do it.

Cultivate your son into a real person.

He will win the battle of life.

He left. Let's talk about his return.

When you see a traveler coming home on a holiday,

Jewelry in hand, swaggering-

Is it arrogance? Or show off his money and good luck?

Don't say hello to him. He may not be your son.

Mom, if you feel sad when you lean on the door and look forward,

At this time, a man appeared outside the low wall.

A famous traveler, with a sword,

Wearing armor and a crown of victory,

Hold your head up proudly.

Maybe some people think it's great,

In fact, swords, gold and fame are nothing.

Don't say hello to him. He may not be your son.

Mom, if in the bleak autumn,

When you smell the flowers,

I hear someone calling you: madam,

On the road over there, a gentleman with many friends came.

He hugged his lover,

In his bright eyes, there is a yearning for the ocean.

In his cup full of honey, he smells of adventure.

Don't say hello to him. He may not be your son.

Mom, if after dinner in winter,

When you miss sadly by the brazier,

Listening to the rain dripping from the roof,

Just then, the door opened and a cold wind blew ... someone came in.

He is bald and has a hammer and axe in his hand.

Get up and meet him because you have the right.

Hug your grown-up son,

He came back from the journey of life with his hard-won reward.

Baidu Encyclopedia-My Father (Ai Qing's Modern Poetry)

Baidu Encyclopedia-Mother's Poetry

Baidu Encyclopedia-Mother (Bing Xin writes poems)

Baidu Encyclopedia-Mother (Liu Zhenkai writes poems)

Baidu Encyclopedia-Mother (asturias writes modern poems)