给母亲
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您不爱说话，总保持沉默，
闲时，倚门而望，
——像一幅简洁的木刻。
皱纹已爬满额头
白发填补着留守的日子，
心在惦念儿女在外面的奔波。
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生活的沉重
以您的沉默为支点，旋转着，
但从没失去重心；
岁月的磨盘
以您的沉默为轴心
——碾着一支深沉的歌。
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手中的针线不停地穿梭，
慈爱和思念织进了衣帛；
又是一个不眠的夜晚，
早霞把您疲惫的脸涂成铜色。
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我知道啊，母亲，
离别让您度日如年，
牵挂让您的皱纹宛如沟壑！
因此，我们不得不努力拼搏，
早日归来，献给您一个团圆的快乐，
为了您不再沉默。。。。。。
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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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