《人间课》

文及英译/红韵

双语诵读/拉拉拉、朗辰

拉拉拉

朗辰

啼哭是第一个句号。

之后依次领取：

掌纹里的断崖，

肋骨后面那间空室，

枕上渐冷的一个圆，

木头仍记得重量的椅子凹陷处。

后来领的更轻：

母亲晾衣时哼错的音，

父亲剃须泡里滞住的光，

第一次碰触，汗珠在皮肤上走岔的路，

第一次告别，喉咙里卡住的那粒核。

有些短得来不及叹息：

樱花瓣刚翻过篱笆，

黄昏就矮了下去；

杯沿才碰到唇，

灯已经替我们散场。

有些长得没有尽头：

河水在半路改姓，

思念长出支流，自己找海；

某人说过的一个字，仍伏在灯罩里

烧成白灰，还在烧。

就让春天把花顶出树皮的裂口，

就让夏天筛下蝉声的碎银，

就让秋天把田野按弯，

就让冬天把屋脊放低，让雪睡在瓦上。

经过花，用影子浅尝。

经过海，任风空手而返。

经过一个同路人，

把脚放进他脚印里，陪他一程。

直到路

穿上我们的鞋子。

Lessons in Being Human

By Hongyun

The first cry is a period.

After that, we receive, one by one:

the cliff in a palm line,

the empty room behind the ribs,

the circle cooling on the pillow,

the hollow in a chair where wood still remembers the weight.

Later, what we receive grows lighter:

the note Mother hummed wrong while hanging laundry,

the light caught in Father’s shaving foam,

the first touch—a bead of sweat taking a wrong turn on the skin,

the first farewell—the fruit pit lodged in the throat.

Some things are too brief even for a sigh:

a cherry petal has barely cleared the fence,

and dusk has already sunk lower;

the rim of a cup has scarcely touched the lips,

and the lamp has already dismissed the evening for us.

Some things stretch on without end:

the river changes its name halfway along,

longing grows tributaries and finds the sea on its own;

a word someone once spoke still rests inside the lampshade,

burned to white ash—and burning still.

Let spring push blossoms through cracks in the bark,

let summer sift down silver shards of cicada song,

let autumn bend the fields beneath its hand,

let winter lower the roofline and let snow sleep on the tiles.

Pass a flower—let your shadow taste it lightly.

Pass the sea—let the wind return empty-handed.

Pass a fellow traveler—

place your feet in his footprints,

and keep him company for a while.

Until the road 

puts on our shoes.

朗读者：拉拉拉，深圳退休教师，喜欢旅游、美食、朗诵，努力用中英文讲好中国故事。

朗辰：

配音朗诵发童声，外企经年美硕成。

久伴太极修身骨，退休寻梦会诗朋。

同研雅韵开心乐，共把清吟寄此生。