you in the desert saint please stop Give me a moment of solitude. Look, the seaside of Puchang in ancient times Qiang girl, where do you come from on the grassland? On the hillside, you are like a pure white sheep, You are like a pure cloud. Nomads love grasslands, sunshine, water, In the tabernacle you have the wisdom to travel like a prophet, Passion is endless milk in the wonderful flute hole, You love to sleep softly in the moonlight than the ewes. You sing in the idyll; on the hair of youth Will soon be covered with autumn frost, If you don't live happily, you will die early

Where is the place where nomads live? The beautiful Qiang girl sings sadly; The government ordered the sheep to be kept and the people to be driven away. 1946 The lake is so still, so blue, A pure white flower is gloomy in the autumn light; In the morning, a girl came to the lake and sighed, A sixteen-year-old shadow is more beautiful than a ruby. There is a county king in the provincial capital of Qinghai, a terrible Desire, like his thick black beard, He is the sad fate of all the maidens of the town; His words are unchangeable laws. I saw his soldiers like cattle and sheep Raising and plundering exotic treasures kneel beside his seat.

The nomad is shut up in his feudal castle, What he wants, seems to reach into his pocket. In autumn, young girls throw themselves into the bottom of the lake like melancholy night flowers, People pointed faintly at the lingering mist on the lake. 1940 - to Shahe Although the kindest person, A farewell will divide two lives; in the twilight of dawn, Can't imagine a more distant dusk. Although your shadow flashes in the memory On the lake, under a tree I seek your voice, Your image is like a cloud in the setting sun; But both the cloud and the tree announced to me the strangeness of a foreign land.

Parting, a brief death in fables; Why time, this vast The sea, what is not in front of you, is gradually forgotten, To the tears of seeing each other again... May the silence of each other far away be the same as when we are together, The tree like the hometown guards the pond in front of the door. 1945 I see: many men, Weeping quietly in the middle of the night. many tame woman suddenly become crazy. morning, dark next to the garbage dump, I drive away the hungry dogs, Pick up the newborn baby. In meditation: They come to me. 1946 I care about that gray prison, Death, bulging belly,

Breed in a dark room. Come in, a female prisoner leads her Child: walk through the dark corridor and fall into iron fence, many rabble come Prisoners, cast dark eyeballs, Watching you with indifference and menacing— How hungry and furious their faces are, Howled suddenly to the dead, And now I don't even feel lonely. In the corner you hear the tearing cry: Nor can the wardens of the dark prison Stopped with whips; the poor prisoner is miscarrying, In a pool of blood, the world is a beggar reach out to you, The baby did not come down for three nights. what!let sin be like a womb

Rip it apart: weeping for us this world! Ladies of the dark prison, There is no other sound, A few strands of cold moonlight leaked through the bars; They are all watching for a long time die-- There are scarier places than that. 1946 taller than trees Countless chimneys, I see them A dark wood of eccentric steel bones. Neither the wind nor the birds dare to approach Rough chimneys, spewing madly A mist like black smoke, a cloud of chaotic clouds... Humbler than the ground, damper than the earth, The 300-meter coal seam hides deep more naked than livestock A group of men as black as the night;

We come from poor and remote villages and towns, Crawling like little beasts in the mines, Bent backs under the miserable green security lights In digging, darkness is the endlessly long hour, The sun forsakes us out of the world, Soon, life will be nothing more than a skinny skeleton. Heh, beeping coal diggers, boilers, day and night devouring At the hour, the train exhales and runs to the sky, Their songs are mournful and frightening, When the wife and children look at each time The sinister elevator takes us thrown down, through strata deeper than black riverbeds, Here: no one believes, no one believes,

Hell is elsewhere, or very near. Our thousand, ten thousand, one hundred thousand lives Diggers, feeding three or five big bellies Warmongers, they continue to exploit— Until the gas soaks our eyes to bleed, Till death, a light yellow papyrus Wants to cover lips parted in anger. The day of reckoning with them has come! listen!There's already fire in the ground, The bottom of the deep mine, The hammer will sound like thunder... 1946 Night, laughing sinisterly, There is something paler than the day The bloated jump of the city, clamoring... Night blinds you, too many windows of joy

Kazuya, you walk into the center of the downtown, Step into greater solitude. Listen, sensuality roars from the body Trampling: Thou - profligate of the flesh, sinful Night, you smile like a poppy. Laughter for no reason, cry for no reason, Life crawls before life, cruel Buying and selling is actually divided into two hungry worlds. Finally, throw you out of the market, alas, that The top of the leaning tower, the symbol of an old woman Deep sunken windows: your despairing eyes. Your sunken nostril rots a hole, But exposed more other people's lewd language, O unfortunate name, you are more majestic than them.

1945 I am the call of the blind, lead him Towards the dark night like a distant, lightless The village, under the smiling moonlight, nothing is broken, I only look for places that belong to the unlucky fantasy. The ugliness of the day is gone from the streets, The stone on the road listens to my singing and erects its stumbling block Ears, women behind the doors come to listen Destiny, is the future a fig that can be grasped! Where did it fall?Or happiness is like a brilliant bouquet of flowers. But the desperate night traveler can only give me a cold glance, He can't tell me anything, only from me

Learn some music from distant hometowns.Suddenly Death recedes, unknown doubts, disasters, On the three shining strings is a wilderness. Hearing from the darkness of his heart the deep throat of himself, The trembling blessing is like a person speaking of suffering. 1948 one do you hear the bell? Vibrating in the light, vibrating in the dark, often lingering in the before and after this space It takes the day away, the night away, not the image Fiction, look, in a thin light Day and night alternate, towering over Gaogang in the center of Shanghai The time of the capitalist society, cast down, Throwing a handful of needles into the sea of ​​men, Who dominates every building other than life House to house, window to window, The deepest contemplation of the spiritual world is like a sad hand. People endure too much reality, Sometimes the meaning doesn't come to mind right away. Blown away one by one in the cold wind Hope, withered brightly like a flower, like a piece of paper What is torn apart and blown back is often Time, responding to the forgetting of the bell, The past time stays here, here Not quite the past, the present is also inflated And often the future, containing everything Joy and division, intrigue and cry for help Despicable regime, countless consciences are being judged by it, The hope in the eyes and the depths of the heart, but constantly Weaving in and out of life, we endure Like Mercury fish breeding, birds lurking, Failed many times through the morning streets, It was only in the crowd that he discovered his own existence. Knowing that evil lies in ambush early, Like returning from an eclipse hour, The sun has not been put on by anyone, It is a cold and helpless world. Endless patience is fire, in the shadows corner, in the empty house, behind the frost Horny experience has told many of you and me, And the fire-maker has come in the dark, He dialectically organizes all light and heat New world, countless new states of affairs ever on every different flame Trial burning, big fire, strong fire, Coming from beyond the shining river. Near the first shoot day of May, the pomegranate Fiery red, about to crack in time, But not now in reality. two cold south april In the middle of the day, I approached an inner dark Xiaguan, Shanghai Takaoka in light golden sunset Still under the palm of the sycamore leaf in the colonial world Near the Judea Hartung Gardens, . My words linger in countless personal Brains, startling those parks The drooping bouquet, the coming depression, is already plentiful Depressed, not allowed to ask questions publicly—— I can only point purely and sincerely time, the empty hours of the capitalist Shifting inch by inch, shuddering, anticipating the inevitable disappearance Here, everything rolls over the car' and axle, can't find its parabolic trajectory Many train windows, with Highland barley and rice in the fields, but no wheatpeckers, Farmer avoids ripe cyan And its troubles, the dark terrors of the heart, Like the dense rain that the sky plots, the fertile During the season, more people are hungry... A little closer, a little farther, still see See, crooked neck of the huddle There is no smoke in the evening Symbols of joy, from the gaps in the thatch When the cloak is blown back, there is a lack of white salt in the clay pot, The stock is two small pieces of ice, covered by a basin of melancholy Face full, from the frosty winter solstice— under some dry and leafless trees Poor death will melt them in an instant. In trembling autumn, the wind speaks: Whose land is it?whose field? sharecroppers too familiar with green Memories; packed into the dark huts of the ages, yet he is leaving For everlasting and undiminished burdens, long war Government, segregated farmer used for an old crooked Feudal scale, labor on the private property of the ridge Adapted to various forms of landowners, they were driven Approaching the county town with gates, Waiting in their own fears, Quiet earth, not empty land Farmers export red and ripe blood like sorghum Flow in, flow in.their habit like garlic All life turns to mud, long Consecration is the very poor flesh. ... trembling autumn Women's looms, cranked in October In the autumn night, in the desolate singing of crickets stopped, day and night in a thin light Turning away from each other, the heartbroken complaints are endless in front of the window Crying, starving children Those who dare not approach the landlords garden, or an adventure in the city, They are among too many poplars and graves Sitting down, sitting in the potato field, like a plow, A little calf, totally unaware Fate, the technology of feudal slaves, Long left here from time past, In the flames of ice, in the pale daylight of the ages Buried together again by the time of snow. three must be reached in order to pass There we shall go the crooked way, All ultimates should start from a The starting point forks, leaving the original here, each Resolute and never escape, countless streams of water flow deep Under the sea, all roads only seek their intended purpose All kinds of people's routes are explored in order to find One struggle and we will be rewarded with the deepest surprises of reality. Four On a deserted late day, I approach The light golden sunset in Gaogang, Shanghai, a dazzling Where capitalists and machines occupy, Smoky marble, polished fire stone buildings Below, crowds of coolies push carts, Bass and alto crossed by men and women Disappeared in the dust-free noise, never panic nervous. · Surprise you with the black antelope that are swarming across the street! I walked off the platform and forgot as I passed Broadway Night at the English Church near Schottal Road The most didactic ancient lights, A moon mixed with Neon Light Beneath vanity, the sky of day is gone, The high-speed tram rushes in a hurry In the end, the hypocritical pomposity draws people's attention Property and reputation, glowing in the graveyard Names, rich as red poppies, colorful Flower roots are planted deep in the sewers leading to the gutter Outstretched black hands, movement, support, through the upper Relationships, squandering politics of all corruption, From the throbbing emptiness of the radio, from the highest The building is conveyed under the gray wall base Busy people hold on to the thinnest Cold, like pieces of transparent paper in the cold wind Seeing a dirty Suzhou River flow through my heart. The kids are not surprised, the latest gray battleship mast lines; dodging stars and stripes Moored huge in the port, but watching warily, Like looking at the colored colonies of Africa, The desire to prepare for war on a Pacific base, A thread like a net stretches here... Come back to that garden: people love exotic Blossoms, bright dresses of women and The countenance, the haughtiness of every gentleman on the arm, They had too many dark last nights, In the sun of Sunday, The flash of the pool, a bird Fly by, the moment of meditation in the bushes, The moment when the garden gate is crowded; The moment on the thin iron pillar of the window of the foreign-colored bungalow; As bright as the noon sun, Bright, without comprehension and all illusions, Disappear all thoughts of what you should be. while countless sick people are sleeping in Near the train station, there are no shelters on the street Foreign accent, suffering from deformity, Persecution, life is not life, Soul and soul still, the twilight Beneath the long row of lampposts, infinite revelation And Mi Ji here's the bleak, lack of aid, appeal: day and night Covered by shadows behind the "barriers of death". These make us angry into countless The coldness of the bomb is the gunpowder of silence Revenge on them is at the fingertips. and near that garden; lawns outside traffic areas, Houses of all kinds of music, prisms and windows, Jews, Britons, and Armed U.S. troops, sailors, on patrol their homeland in the colonies. Hymns of the International church So rippling, washing away their sins, But like a dull bathroom full of filth. dames of gems and flowers, and variants Dogs, walking like phantasms in desire. Time has not taught them to forgive, Oblivion, through all lies, the hand of greed still holds The last golden key, still open and locked All property and buildings, in circulation Their most prepared gold coins, exquisite goods Goods, flooding idiotic colonies, The pendulum of the big clock at Jianghai Customs, From the poles of dispossession and intrigue Count your fortune every second, Pretend to go back to the distant place at the last hour It is also confusing to use it in your own country A complete end of what is to come— Wealth is not wealth, Possession cannot last long, Armed but unable to protect the colonies, The silent people are saturated with rage, The pact of the few is the most shameful history, Our first new time will order The simplest and shortest death between them and them. Fives Through time, through bird's insight Eye, (it sees the great prophecy of ordinary people—) It is easiest to find opposite light in darkness, The closest approach is like suddenly turning to a strange place, There is wind and fire in the shouting of Bu Zhu, The least words contain infinite power, The more you go down, the wider you will see, outside the mountains Countless hills have burnt villages, The villages surround the counties and townships of the landowners, and the county towns are isolated One city after another, as far as Shanghai Gaogang, the last capital society. Every night sees flames, continues until The coppery sun of tomorrow. six Behold, the winds of war: The process of Baofeng became shorter and shorter day by day. It wakes the trees that winter stretches out, conflicts in the dirt Seeds, people in countless riots The moment you wake up, you will throw yourself into the struggle. we pass it Will laugh, never laugh open chewing lips That is the wind, thousands of years of cruelty, violence, tyranny Split in a determined time, All the land will change, the bloodiest flashes the strongest fire Hui shines upon glorious life and death. seven The struggle will be above all meaning, The future develops in this huge process, cruel But it's time for mercy, done on one side The people's bottom flag—— Eight Through the wind, people will gradually see new The land; the beauty of the flowers, the joy of the birds: The dawn of a human being. Caught from the conquest of labor, the vigilance of war Time, though people still suffer, and the carnival wind It will blow the happy days to come. The past time stays here, here Not quite the past, the present is also inflated and often the future; contains the consistent direction, a huge historical image is completed on this glorious The bottom flag of the people, shining like the shining sun Reflected in front and back of our space From here to there.