Modern Poetry "Days at Home"
The days spent at home, it brings back so many people and things.
What should be forgotten, cannot be forgotten.
What shouldn't be remembered, completely erased.
Time is truly a butcher's knife.
It illuminates the days that tend to become monotonous.
Time is also a pile of pig dung.
It nurtures life's rose into an incredibly exquisite bloom.
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Family gatherings, moments of intense eye contact.
Scrolling on phones, watching dramas, cooking, drinking tea.
Daydreaming.
The gaps of daydreaming sometimes drift in a few people.
They quickly disperse.
People forgotten after seven or eight years, suddenly remembered.
Recalling very small childhood memories, it hurts.
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Thinking about grandma's big courtyard.
There was a chicken coop in the courtyard.
There was a large peach tree in the chicken coop.
There was also a small swing in the courtyard.
Evening flowers, the fragrance of the osmanthus tree…….
I remember the bats hanging upside down on the wall….
That was the most ugly thing in my memory….
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Spending time at home, feeling unwell.
I thought I couldn't make it through.
But I miraculously recovered.
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New Year, still need to work hard and study life. It's better to work hard when you're young, or you'll regret it in old age. It's sad to turn gray without effort in middle age.
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