My Harmonica
By Tingfengmingyue
Tr. By Shangri-La
Before talking over with dew, autumn couldn’t wait to land
After migrating birds, the melody from my harmonica rises
To the distant starry sky
The drifting duckweed. a drop sprinkled by the moonlight
My harmonica, is left in the mottled alley
Of my hometown village
The rice fields in my memory send forth delicate fragrance. I always envy their peace
My harmonica can get close to it
Only after drawing dust and distracting thoughts out of my chest
Each time chimney smoke, is bit away by the gloaming
The village is asleep, faster than the little ladybirds on the sweet potato vines
My harmonica, ignores sadness, tiredness
And much more else
Tonight, so clear, and so silver is the moonlight
Just like my parents’ frost on the temples white
Can my harmonica melody lighten their loads
So as to straighten their bodies
Let the wind going, so that the melody from my harmonica, is blent with my native soil
With the mulberry in front of the window
Can only coincide, a shadow