Modern poems about love of country

I. I love this land

Author Ai Qing? Dynasty Modern

If I were a bird, I, too, should sing with a hoarse throat:

This storm-battered land, this river that forever rages with our grief,

The enraged wind that blows without end, and the unmistakably gentle dawn from the forest ......

-Then I died, and even my feathers rotted inside the land.

Why do I often have tears in my eyes? Because I love this land so much ......

Two, the motherland, my dear motherland

Author Shu Ting? Dynasty Modern Times

I am the worn-out old waterwheel on your riverside, spinning a tired song for centuries;

I am the smoky black mining lamp on your forehead, illuminating you as you snailed and groped your way through the tunnels of history.

I am the shriveled ears of rice, the roadbed in disrepair; the barge on the silted beach, strangling the fiber rope deep into your shoulders,

O Motherland! I am poverty, I am sorrow. I am the painful hope of your ancestors,

It is the flower that has not fallen to the ground for thousands of years between the sleeves of the "flying sky",

Oh, the motherland! I am your new ideal, just breaking free from the cobwebs of myth; I am the germ of the ancient lotus under your snow cover;

I am the smiling edges of your tears; I am the freshly brushed snow-white starting line; I am the scarlet dawn, which is erupting;

O motherland! I am one billionth of thee, the sum of thy nine and six hundred thousand squares; thou hast fed, with bruised breasts

, the perplexed me, the deep-thinking me, the boiling me; then from my flesh and blood

go forth to obtain, thy riches, thy glory, thy freedom;

O motherland, my dear motherland!

Three, you are

Author Zang Kejia Dynasty modern

You are the summit of Mount Tai, lofty and hard; you are the Yangtze River that rushes through the Three Gorges,

Surge rushing, the thought of your sixty-one years of the image of your ears whistling up the sudden rain and wind,

You are a blazing fire, the rotten things burn it clean; you are the mirror of the spotlight.

Centralizing the people's hopes, you are creating a new history and carrying on the best traditions.

All the people hail you, your bosom is broad, you don't claim credit for yourself, your feet are rooted in the earth,

your fame is high in the sky. You are a dragon in the clouds of the times;

The evil tiger is now, you are bold and strong, clench your iron fist and never relax. You are the lightning that opens the darkness,

You are the thunder that rouses the hibernation, you are the sea of wisdom, you are the heavenly lamp that hangs high,

You are the people's warrior - mighty and infinite! You are valiant, ever advancing, ever young.

Four, I am Chinese

Author Wen Yiduo Dynasty Modern Times

I am Chinese, I am a Chinaman, I am the divine blood of the Yellow Emperor; I come from the highest place on earth, and the Pamir is my place of origin.

My race is a great river; we flow down the slopes of the Kunlun Mountains, we flow across the continent of Asia, we flow out beautiful customs.

Great nation, great nation! The five mountains in general solemnity and uprightness, the wide measure of the bottom of the Pacific Ocean, the softness of the spring clouds, the boldness of the autumn wind.

Our history can be sung, he is the Yao time old man knocking on the wooden loam, knocked out the music of peace, - our history is a folk song.

Our history is a golden kamagata holding the sweet wine of the emperor's sacrifice to heaven! We honor the people, we obey the heavens, we are the gods of peace.

Our history is a tear, the tear of Confucius mourning the death of the unicorn; our history is a laugh, the laugh of Zhuang Zhou, Chunyi Kun, Dongfang Shuo.

I am a Chinese, I am a Chinaman, I have the heart of Yao and Shun in my heart, my blood is the blood of Jing Ke and Nie Zheng, I am the legacy of Shen Nong and Huang Di.

My wisdom comes in a strange way, he is a gift offered by the hippopotamusThe rhythm in this song of mine was originally imparted by the Phoenix of the Nine Pods.

My heart is filled with the silence of the Gobi, my face has the color of the waves of the Yellow River, the stone slips of Taishan dripped into my patience, the lofty Jiange propped up my bosom.

I did not sleep! I did not sleep the spiritual fire in my heart is still burning; my flame he burned more and more, I burned for my motherland to tremble.

My memory is still a hemp rope, the rope is bundled with countless knot stems; a knot is a historical event - I am five thousand years of history.

I am the history of the past 5,000 years, and I am the history of the future 5,000 years. I want to repair the stage of history and prepare for the rehearsal of the future of history.

Our future history is a song: the music of a calm sea and a clear river. Our future history is a cup of wine, and in Georgia we are honoring the emperor. Our future history is a tear, and my tear washes away the sorrows of mankind. Our future history will be a laugh, and my laugh will wash away the troubles of the universe.

We are a river, a celestial river, a wave of muddy light! --We are 40,000,000 undying stars; our place is forever doomed.

Great nation! Great Nation! I am the originator of Eastern culture; my life is the life of the world. I am Chinese; I am Chinaman!

V. MACAU

Author Wen Yiduo Modern Times

Do you know that "Ma Kong" is not my real name?

I have been away from your swaddling clothes for too long, Mother!

But it is my flesh they have taken,

You still hold my inner soul.

O birth mother of those three hundred years of dreaming!

Please call me by my maiden name,

call me "Macau"!

Mother! I want to come back, Mother!