by He Zhong
     trs. by Wang Ping

So many changes in Lhasa
The Party’s sunshine
Brighter than the Tibetan sun
Development & stability
So many new scenes
All sorts of people walking on the streets
All sorts of people
From all sorts of places
Carrying
All sorts of thoughts on their minds

by Liang Ping
     trs. by Chen Xiaoyuan

Beijing is a distant place
When I laid awake in Chengdu
I wondered how far it is
Like having insomnia, I started counting
till I lost the thread and drowsiness crept over
I counted from the 1st Ring Road
remained conscious till 250th Ring Road
Hazily I saw, Tiananmen Square, Monument to People’s Heroes
eunuchs and maids walking from Forbidden City
I’m sure I’d recognise them
but they don’t know me
I kept walking forward, exhausted
Beijing is a distant place indeed.

October 20, 2017

by Liang Ping
     trs. by Chen Xiaoyuan

The deep south
and the southwest make a dead corner
I am not fond of the north.  Its rain and snow, fog and haze
alleys and courtyard houses, Chinese candied fruits
have nothing to do with me.  Never linger in my mind
Pearl River Delta in contrast, angles of which are dead corners
where man is reserved as braving death
In solitude, a dormant sea turtle stays in a crevice on the reef
A recluse
Over distance, I could see the dead corner
responds to the vicissitudes of my life
where the river brims, and flora prospers.

January 13, 2018

by Liang Ping
     trs. by Chen Xiaoyuan

Yugoslavia, gone,
Old Chinese Embassy site, pulled down.
At the corner of the construction site, a marble slab
is indulged in black humor
An epitaph with the names of two young men
stands more desolately than lives.
Rain falling from the sky
Withered wildflowers covered with tears
The bleak yellow, blatantly glaring.
Shelterless marble slab is silent
No one stopped by.  No one cast another look.
Belgrade with a dull expression
has a memory shorter than fish’s
I knelt down, listened to the bombings from then
The accuracy of targeting the basement from across the ocean.
I came all the way from my motherland
And caught no sight of the Rhine blue
I can only remove, gingerly
the mud and leaves on the epitaph
afraid that my sea of sorrow
would approach the wound.

August 3, 2018