The Leader Of Old Times

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They called him morning star, shining through the long night;
But where the star fell, only scorched earth remained.

He walked in the wind, with embers of the mountains and rivers;
Said he wanted to wake up the sleepers, but he made the dreams deeper.

He built bridges and cut roads;
He planted fires and pulled out flowers.
His voice penetrated the years, like a bell and a whip;
His hands held up hope and tightened throat at the same time.

He said he would seek happiness for everyone, but built the foundation with silent people.

He is not the sun, but a furnace,
Burns the enemies and dries up the wells;
He is not a god, but a shadow,
Standing upright behind the light.

So, the footsteps under the banner gradually faded away,
Leaving only a signpost of spiritual symbolism.
The wind is still blowing, like the slogans of old days,
Echoing back and forth in the empty valley.

Some people are still looking up,
Some people have already bypassed it.