Ma Yongbo
The house became quiet
The house became quiet,
the house will always become quiet,
the children are tired of playing,
when they grow up,
they will become quiet and tired
Their broken toys were still scattered on the floor,
their secret notes were still hidden in the cracks,
they stood at the bottom of the stairs,
with one hand pressing down the brim of their hats, whispering “goodbye,”
they stood in the doorway and hesitated for a moment,
their black silhouettes lying on the gray floor
The house became quiet
The festival has passed, many years have passed
Children on the edge of the dark woods
They turned around and looked at the silent house in the snow，
squatting there, pitch black, like a hoarse old beast
covered with gray hair.
On the porch, snowflakes like moths circling around the light bulb all night long.
They know their elderly parents
shy and quiet, like two dolls
squeezed tightly by the cold in front of the glass window
Other work by Ma Yongbo