Untitled
Now I'm dead. I was everything the book
Holding the book in your hands on ... ...
Chains of love from your shoulder removed,
And my ashes are still hot.
From now on, every moment of anxiety
You can browse the book.
Your life can be retained forever shift the way
I left a blot.
I buried my grandmother to my poems by
Composition of the grave,
Can you hear - you hear the call of a small bird?
It also alive - my poem!
Please do not like the embarrassment of Magda Lina wildly off -
Do not open my grave ... ...
The only moment in the only time only
Let our lips with lip kiss.
"Silver Age Russian poet," the first 370
Translated by Zhang Bing
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In the bottom of hell
- Memorial Yaboluoke and Nisigumi Liao Fu
Dead of night stay AD
More boring day by day more brutal.
Life as a Candle in the Wind, blew it, is the shame of the wind:
No cry, no Calls reported, and no one for help.
Miserable is the fate of Russian poets:
Fate unknown to Pushkin
Brought under the gun,
Scaffold to guide Tuo Dostoevsky.
Perhaps this is our fate,
Ross is the killing of parent-child killer!
Not rot in your basement
Stumble is in the bloody mud,
But I will not abandon you Golgotha
Will not stay away from your graves.
Even if I was ferocious hunger or down,
I would not choose a different kind of fate:
Die let me die with you
And with you, and Lazarus, like, stand up from the grave!
January 12, 1922 at Keke Li Jie Do ibid p. 389
Translated by Zhang Bing
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To Eagle Stein
I like the old letter words and books
Issue is full of the rustle ... ... Burnout
They distributed a special atmosphere and charm
Withered flowers from the rows.
I like the fancy handwriting -
It has a smell of hay.
Flamboyant familiar handwriting fonts
Murmured with a melancholy poem.
They kind of lethargy in the U.S.
Full of charm for me ... ...
They are from the knowledge tree
The lovely flying.
Translated by Zhang Bing
Now I'm dead. I was everything the book
Holding the book in your hands on ... ...
Chains of love from your shoulder removed,
And my ashes are still hot.
From now on, every moment of anxiety
You can browse the book.
Your life can be retained forever shift the way
I left a blot.
I buried my grandmother to my poems by
Composition of the grave,
Can you hear - you hear the call of a small bird?
It also alive - my poem!
Please do not like the embarrassment of Magda Lina wildly off -
Do not open my grave ... ...
The only moment in the only time only
Let our lips with lip kiss.
"Silver Age Russian poet," the first 370
Translated by Zhang Bing
-------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------
In the bottom of hell
- Memorial Yaboluoke and Nisigumi Liao Fu
Dead of night stay AD
More boring day by day more brutal.
Life as a Candle in the Wind, blew it, is the shame of the wind:
No cry, no Calls reported, and no one for help.
Miserable is the fate of Russian poets:
Fate unknown to Pushkin
Brought under the gun,
Scaffold to guide Tuo Dostoevsky.
Perhaps this is our fate,
Ross is the killing of parent-child killer!
Not rot in your basement
Stumble is in the bloody mud,
But I will not abandon you Golgotha
Will not stay away from your graves.
Even if I was ferocious hunger or down,
I would not choose a different kind of fate:
Die let me die with you
And with you, and Lazarus, like, stand up from the grave!
January 12, 1922 at Keke Li Jie Do ibid p. 389
Translated by Zhang Bing
-------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------
To Eagle Stein
I like the old letter words and books
Issue is full of the rustle ... ... Burnout
They distributed a special atmosphere and charm
Withered flowers from the rows.
I like the fancy handwriting -
It has a smell of hay.
Flamboyant familiar handwriting fonts
Murmured with a melancholy poem.
They kind of lethargy in the U.S.
Full of charm for me ... ...
They are from the knowledge tree
The lovely flying.
Translated by Zhang Bing
Translated by Google