Laments Of The Gorges - Poem by Meng Jiao
Triple Gorge one thread of heaven over
ten thousand cascading thongs of water,
slivers of sun and moon sheering away
above, and wild swells walled-in below,
splintered spirits glisten, a few glints
frozen how many hundred years in dark
gorges midday light never finds, gorges
hungry froth fills with peril. Rotting
coffins locked into tree roots, isolate
bones twist and sway, dangling free,
and grieving frost roosts in branches,
keeping lament's dark, distant harmony
fresh. Exile, tattered heart all scattered
away, you'll simmer in seething flame
here, your life like fine-spun thread,
its road a trace of string traveled away.
Offer tears to mourn the water-ghosts,
and water-ghosts take them, glimmering.
Water swords and spears raging in gorges,
boats drift across heaving thunder. Here
in the hands of these serpents and snakes,
you face everyday frenzies of wind and rain,
and how many fleeing exiles travel these
gorges, gorges rank inhabitants people?
You won't find a heart beneath this sheen,
this flood that's stored away aftermath
forever. Arid froth raising boundless mist,
froth all ablaze and snarling, snarling
what of that thirst for wisdom when you're
suddenly here, dead center in these waters.
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