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游西湖，母亲牵着我的手
用脚丈量苏堤与白堤的距离
走运河，我牵着母亲的手
用脚丈量拱宸桥与亚洲书院的距离
有行人说，老太太真有福气
有行人说，这孩子真有福气
他们不知，多年不下厨的老太太
那天早上亲自为儿子做了一份生日面
父亲是诗人，母亲从未写过诗
诗人杨学贵却说：
“五个孩子是您最得意的作品”
是的，母亲的诗
写在邮电之路上
流动在锅碗瓢盆中
母亲用她的诗支撑着一个家啊
正如父亲在诗中所说：
“我从虚幻的上空坠落
你是一方坚实的土地”
母亲的诗——
一首流动的诗，一幅无框的画
记得最后一次
和病重的母亲自拍视频
母亲和我十指紧扣
似乎要传递所有的爱
握住所有的生命
我仿佛觉得母亲紧扣我的五指
是向五个子女，五个小家庭诀别
或者，是在告诉我们一个道理
五个手指只有握成拳头
才有无穷无尽的力量
五个手指只有握成拳头
才有永恒祥和的家啊
这是母亲为我们留下的最后的诗
是天鹅之歌，和着父亲的绝唱
小时候，妈妈是我们的图书馆
长大后，妈妈是我们幸福的诗
Special Happiness Called Mummy（Bilingual）
Author: Gui Qingyang
Walking around the West Lake in Hangzhou, Mother held my hand
Measuring the distance between Su Causeway and Bai Causeway
Walking along the Grand Canal, I held Mother's hand instead
Measuring the distance between Gongchen Bridge and Huang Yazhou Academy
Some passersby saying that the old lady was so well blessed
Other passersby saying that the grey-haired son was so well blessed
If only they knew that the lady with long absence from the kitchen
Offered to cook a bowl of noodle on her son's birthday that very morning
Father was a poet, while Mother had never written a single line of poem
Yet Yang Xuegui, a noted poet, once said to her:
"The five children are your masterpieces"
Yeah, Mother's poems were all composed
On the holy road of post and telecommunications
While making sound and sense between pots and pans in the kitchen
Mother held up the sky of our home with her exceptional poetry
As my father once complimented her in verses:
"Whenever I fall from the void above
You are the safe and solid land for my shelter"
Mother's poem is therefore a fluid poem, also a frameless painting
I still remember the last time
When I took selfie video with my seriously ill mummy
She clasped my hand tightly
Seeming to pass on all her love to me
To take every second of life so dearly and seriously
I felt Mother clinging to my five fingers
To say goodbye to her five children and five small families
Or, I felt her trying to tell us a truth---
Five fingers have infinite power only when they make a fist
Only a strong fist can ensure an eternal and peaceful home
This is the last poem left to us by our beloved mother
It's a swan song, integrated with another swan song of Father's
When we were young, Mother was our treasured library
When we grew up, Mother was our verse of happiness, even today
