給母親
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您不愛說話，總保持沉默，
閑時，倚門而望，
——像一幅簡潔的木刻。
皺紋已爬滿額頭
白發填補著留守的日子，
心在惦念兒女在外面的奔波。
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生活的沉重
以您的沉默為支點，旋轉著，
但從沒失去重心；
歲月的磨盤
以您的沉默為軸心
——碾著一支深沉的歌。
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手中的針線不停地穿梭，
慈愛和思念織進了衣帛；
又是一個不眠的夜晚，
早霞把您疲憊的臉涂成銅色。
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我知道啊，母親，
離別讓您度日如年，
牽掛讓您的皺紋宛如溝壑！
因此，我們不得不努力拼搏，
早日歸來，獻給您一個團圓的快樂，
為了您不再沉默。。。。。。
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To My Mother
You don't love to talk, and always are silencing,
Sometimes, you stood leaning against the door, gazing
---- your pose seems a concise wood engraving
Wrinkles have been crawling upon your forehead
Grey hair filled with the lonely days ahead,
You miss your son and daughter working in the city for bread.
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The hardship of life,
In your silence as a fulcrum, spinning,
But never loses the center of gravity;
Years like a stonemill, grinding,
In your silence as the axis of rotation,
-- grind into a song of profundity.
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The needle and thread in your hand are shuttling,
You weave the love and miss into the clothing;
You spent one and another sleepless night,
The morn clouds paint your tired face with bronze light.
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I know, my dearest mother, all along,
Every parting let you feel that every day seems a year long,
The missing makes your wrinkles like gullies prolong.
Therefore, we have to work as hard as capable,
Return home and give you a happy reunion as soon as possible,
In order to let you no longer keep silence in miserable...
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