Harmonica Poem by Yang Lian

The flowers under the chilly sky are grotesque Except for the lips river water Makes sculptures of tiny ears with a song Tongues of past events lick fastidiously into an empty space Half a note at a time rocks approach the shore but remain far away Spring inhales or exhales fish-bone pipes shine Who is it shaking someone's old map in the wind To make words vanish so that they are not lies Like clouds the world resounds when blown As young green fingers learn the language of the ear Pain finds you lasts longer than the future Life so simple as if it is only this life River water flowing away a pale white fingernail At this instant thrusts deeper and deeper playing Restoring fingerprints to ancient silver with no skin And loving again the source of darkness in the sound box