laced with icicles, empty on the inside
Men resembling farmers gather for warmth; the public bus
arrives, doves turn leisurely amongst the branches
the white smoke chokes some county in this state.
Imprints my soles on this Beijing's virgin snows
No one understands my Nanyang features
They are so eye-catching
The plain scenic view encompasses her history, culture
Once alighted, shed an outer layer of skin immediately
Underneath my face is a void.
One-way and circuit subway tracks that are parsimonious
Wandering men searching for gazes everywhere
examining new irises. My
stomach opens, the cold air inside this San Li Tun area
Snowflakes dyed themselves yellow under the streetlights
for a second; tomorrow they will read the winter
that is me left-over memories and dead bodies.
These days I can't forget, like yesterday's you
and your warmth. The winter that we thought we imagined
seems like a small nagging pain in the past—- the first menstruation,
the moment of a wet dream; but we had missed them
We've matured after a passing tropical rain
"Winter is cold, snowflakes are beautiful." I said.
These days I can't forget, like yesterday's you.
I don't want to recall these days when I remembered
you and those words I told you: we have erred.
Original written in Chinese on 18-12-2002 in Bangkok
Translated into English by Tan Hua Biao on 2-6-2004
Three days, in Bangkok, the last day
I walked towards the market, opposite
some bus stop turning, stole a glance from used-item girl:
nodding. smiling. cupped hands.
I do not desire
too much time for slumber. Bangkok. Fair weather.
On a Tut Tut along that narrow river path
a wooden boat slide past, both sides passengers
sit quietly in a single file; some wipe away the water droplets, some
rest with eyes shutted; over the wooden ladder, onboard, onshore;
the Tut Tut and wooden boat each has passengers with clear directions
except me, leaning on the railings imagining a traveler
playing different possible roles and a foreign romance
On the way back, I stood to admire
the girl leaning against a pillar pressing her ears
listening to a small radio. Tossed a few coins
jukebox vomits out: "One Night In Bangkok".
She discovers me standing there, her body
as if making a sound – I rush urgently towards
the gushing traffic flow, just to elucidate that sound
The girl waves her hand, as if to communicate
but whatever she says even she says I can't understand—- whole-heartedly I wish to become the gliding wooden boat
carrying the girl's body, carrying
the sounds within her body
Original written in Chinese on 7-9-2003 in Bangkok
Translated into English by Tan Hua Biao on 2-6-2004
1 comment:
Thank you so much for sharing your story. It's very informative. I love to read it and do hope to read your next story.
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