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《天安門上的蒙娜麗莎》
Sun, generations of the same crowds,
Beijing. In the sky, an empty
canvas waiting for the by-gone birds
to fill its greatness and to dub
the eternal noise of commotion
on the ground.Between clouds and cement,
your polished face remains smiling,
framed, the only one smiling on such a hot day.
The pedicab driver looks up at your
perfect plastic contentness
whenever he pedals achingly across the square
for 30 years.
Soldiers march under the gentle
strokes of your dreamy eyes. They look small
like an army of ants dressed in green.
You make us feel small, insignificant
and into believing there is a heaven.
No more birds. Nowhere for them to perch.
Rain. Sand storm. Blood.
We come, gather, disperse
with a fake smile.
:3/11/05 |
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