Flowing Water
On the campus, a water pump sends water into somersaults
Peeling the moldy sheet off the dead water and hanging it in the sun
Students and professors pass by like autumn wind
No one gives a second thought to the splashing water
A few peasant workers stare at the water
Such greedy look in their eyes
Embarrassed water buries its face under their gaze
A wound buried deep in the running ditch
It’s still autumn, but the workers are already talking about winter
Is it because the fire in the flowing water stops it from freezing?
Or the splashing water bends like a working peasant’s back?
Or because the water foams like cotton, calling them home?
The water pump ties water to its side like a white horse
Only the migrant workers hear its neighing for help
The campus’ indifferent eyes cut deep into its flesh
A peasant worker lowers his face to the horse’s hooves
The dust on his face joins in the water flowing all the way home
Migraine
It comes, throwing a tantrum in my body
20 years already, I still don’t know its language
The body has to lie down, the eyes must close
The mouth, like a construction site, utters piercing sounds
The body curls, wishing to return to the womb
I’ve lived 50 years on the earth, do I need a rebirth?
Maybe I’m just a battered boat, wishing to fold and unfold my sail?
The migraine beats me like a drum, non-stop
Wind knocking on the window, does it want to join in for a pop song?
Pain ties my tongue around moaning
Forbidding it to open its wings
Pain is a sea, showing me the horizon of life
Pain scolds me for not knowing the joy of a farmer’s market
When pain approaches, even my past loneliness becomes content
My pain is no longer alone; it has become a history book
A museum that collects agony
Stray Cat
At dusk, that stray cat would arrive
Quiet like night, no appearance of hunger or struggle
It crosses the suffering in elegance, towards me
Unlike humans, walking each step as if it were a song
It doesn’t have a name to confuse my thoughts
Its fur is more trustworthy than any names
Like a hermit, it collaborates with long nights
Would the food I put out lift its fate into a middle class?
My charity, how much of it comes from the heart?
Maybe it’s just a gesture to fight great emptiness
Before night closes its door, nothing is true, not even dimples on a star
Look at her appetite! She eats in the manner of
A bank, saving all the hunger of humanity
Her coat is thick like winter jackets
Warning us of the coming winter
I whistle, to build our common tongue
Each sound is a grain of longing
◆
流水
校园里，抽水机让水翻着跟头
它把死水的霉床单，掀起来晒太阳
秋风一样路过的师生
不认为扬得高高的水，与他们有关
几个农民工，直直盯着流水
没有谁的眼神比他们更贪婪
流水窘得低下头
埋进河沟这道深深的伤口
还是秋天，他们已谈论冬天
是因为流水中有火，能让水不结冰？
是因为扬得高高的水，像农民干活弓着背？
是因为流水用锦绣的白棉花，催促他们还乡？
抽水机把一匹水的白马，拴在身边
只有农民工听见，它嘶鸣的求救声——
师生的冷眼是刀子，割得它疼啊
一个农民工，把脸低到马脚下
让脸上的尘土，扎入流水一起还乡
偏头痛
头痛时，是谁在我体内发脾气？
已经二十年，我还未弄懂它的用语——
身子要躺下，眼睛要闭上
嘴还要像工地，发出嘈杂声
身子蜷缩的样子，像要回到子宫
莫非我年过半百，仍需要定期回炉？
或像疲惫的帆，只想把自己再次折叠？
头上的痛像鼓点，不停敲打
风来到窗口，要合奏一支流行曲？
痛让舌头抱住呻吟
不让呻吟展开翅膀
痛是大海，让我看到了日子的风景
痛是怪我，还不懂去菜场买菜的幸福？
当痛临近，连过去的落寞也是满足
我的痛并不孤单，一本历史书
就是一座收藏疼痛的博物馆
野猫
每天傍晚，那只野猫就像夜色
悄悄来临，它没有苟且偷生的低贱
它用优雅的步态穿过苦难，走向我
它不像人，会把脚步声走得像歌声
它没有让人劳神的名字
身上的绒毛，比任何名字更可靠
它用隐士身份，配合着这漫漫长夜
我撒下的猫粮，能把它的命运拖入小康？
我的施舍里，到底有多少真心？
也许这施舍，只是抵御虚无的一种风情
在黑夜打烊之前，就连星星的酒窝也不真实
多么香啊！它的吃相是银行
一样存着人类的饥馑
它浓密的绒毛，也像人类的棉衣
一样有着过冬的警觉
我用口哨，打造着它和我的方言
每一声，都是一粒憧憬
