火 ——
革命的烈火
烧遍了原野，焚着了房屋，
毁了肉体， 燃着了满山河。
但，为什么
总灼不着人类底寸心？
血 ——
生命的热血
洒透了晴空，飞溅在大地，
汇成了巨渠， 染红了江海。
但，为什么
总照不到人类底寸心？
寥寥的几个铜像，
只供娱乐者来欣赏。
烈士尸骸埋葬的荒冢，
只伴着过来无情的寒风。
红的热血，
红的烈火，
引出自己妻儿的眼泪。
谁愿意抛掉头颅？
谁愿意舍去生命？
革命决不是那么一回事。
卅三年来的民国，
年年都是兵灾人祸,
到底是谁的罪过？
饥饿的呼泣，
惨杀的号叫，
原野传来痛苦的悽声。
都市却充满着淫乐的气氛，
模糊，黑暗，悲哀，徘徊，徬徨。
难道先烈壮烈的牺牲，
只能给人们带来更多的痛苦？
一年，一年，又一年，都说
明年的双十节一定带来光明,
但， 只是一个希望。
难道烈士的头颅只是一颗陨星，
给悲哀的诗人来流凭吊的眼泪?
醒来吧， 同胞们,
燃起你血红的心火,
烧尽天上乌黑的云盖。
现在 ，还是将来?
没有了那颗冰冷的心，
没有了懦弱的眼泪,
已给七年的烽火烧干。
握紧你的拳头,
咬实你的牙龈,
振奋你的肌肉，
扬起你的臂膀.
火红的血在你的眼前，
血红的火在你的心中。
革命! 革命!革命!
唱着人道正义的战歌,
踏上先烈鲜红的血迹,
扇起那一时被盖的烈焰，
加上这七年燃烧着的烽火,
把社会从新洗刷,
把人类的渣滓消灭,
消灭—— 永远消灭!
Fire ——
The raging fire of revolution
burning all over the prairie, torching houses and buildings,
destroying bodies and flesh, igniting mountains and rivers.
But, why does it
never able to inflame the hearts of humanity?
Blood ——
The passionate blood of life
has showered through the clear sky, splashed everywhere on earth,
converged into a great stream, tinted red the rivers and seas.
But, why does it
never able to illuminate the hearts of humanity?
A few bronze statues
only serve for the appreciation of the pleasure pursuers.
The barren tombs that buried the martyrs’ corpses
only accompanied by the passing merciless chill wind.
The red of passionate blood,
The red of raging fire,
draw forth the tears from one’s wives and children.
Who would want to cast away one’s head?
Who would want to abandon one’s life?
Revolution is certainly not such a matter.
Thirty three years of the Republic
comes with war calamity and human-made disasters every year.
Whose fault is it after all?
The calling and weeping of those in hunger,
The screaming of those in massacre,
Painful sounds are heard from the open country,
the city is yet filled with indulgence of licentious pleasure.
Murky and dark, sad and sorrowful, people wandering in uncertainty.
Does it mean the heroic sacrifice of our past martyrs
can only bring to people even more pain?
One year, one year, and one more year, they say
Next year the Double Ten holiday will definitely bring forth hope,
But, it is just a wish.
Does it mean the martyr’s head is just a meteor,
serving for the sad and sorrowful poets to shed his mourning tears?
Better wake up, my countrymen,
Light up your passionate heart of fire
to burn out all the hovering dark clouds.
Now, or in the future?
Gone are those ice-cold hearts,
Gone are those weakling tears,
They were burned dry by seven years of war.
Clench your fists tightly,
Bite your teeth firmly,
Pump up your muscles,
Raise up your arms.
Firing-red blood is in front of your eyes,
Bloody-red fire is in your heart.
Revolution! Revolution! Revolution!
Sing out the war songs of humanity and righteousness,
step on the bright red bloody traces of the past martyrs,
fan out the raging flame being momentarily concealed,
add in this beacon fire that has been burning for seven years,
to start afresh and clean this society,
to exterminate the dregs of humanity.
Exterminate —— exterminate it forever!