/ 1967
They say:
“Snap the cords of the erhu,
smash its body.”
We no longer have melody.
They say:
“Saw this big tree
especially the old trees, saw all of them.”
We no longer have shade.
They say:
“Get rid of this stonemason,
that carpenter too, right now.”
We no longer have pretty stone bridges.
We no longer have pretty houses.
They say:
”Burn these sutras,
tear down these temples,
drive away these monks and nuns.”
We no longer have morals.
We no longer have conscience.
I was born in crumbling 1967.
I was destined to see everything through destructive eyes.
I was sick soon after birth
and destined to see everything through sick eyes.
I see all of you are dying
and I’m destined not to die.
I’m destined to open up my mouth and speak from ruins,
destined to push this dust-sealed iron door open.
erhu: a two-stringed bowed Chinese instrument
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