It needs to fabricate a log cabin, some seventy square meters
To settle the scripts unallocated, letting them go mold, go maggots, and go worms
To fabricate a ground, in front of the cabin, to plant grapes and orris your favorites
It needs to fabricate a winter, then
And a snowland as well, to make the fickle cicada chilled
It needs to fabricate a legend, cast into the firepan fading bit by bit, at the beginning,
Pear flowers are in full blossom, go slow the plots, with few dialogues, and no ending.
And the pear flowers are fabricated to keep blooming all through
It needs to fabricate a me, who am writing, and bearing wrinkles too much
On whose face a little smile, and, along whose hip a yataghan, very which
Needs to be fabricated to slice iron as if a mud, since the reality feels so stony
As to you, who have stayed here since, it needs not to be fabricated
Except for a gown, made of hand-washed silk, with wisteria blossom imagine
Then, a boat, a breeze, and a river unnamed yet are fabricated
And some paper to record certain facts being cremated soon, and
Some facts, in turn, to make sacrificial rite for the paper true and ashed as well
It needs to fabricate a wreck, to tell people what is passed on is only a hay
And an overwhelm, to tell camel that each life is just a straw, anyway
It needs to fabricate a nightmare, to find out the sleepers sound and the shamers
If it occurs no screams, such nightmare might not be fabricated after all
(Note: This poem is awarded by the People’s Literature, 2013)作者: 齐云 时间: 2013-12-9 09:14
