To father Poem by Bei Dao

In a chilly morning of February
The oak has finally taken a grievous size
Father, before your photograph
The eight-direction wind retains the calmness of round tables

I look from the perspective of childhood
And always see you from behind
Shepherding dark clouds and white sheep
Along the road that leads toward monarchy

The eloquent wind brings out floods
The logic of urban lanes goes deep in the heart
You call on me to be your son
I follow you to become a father

The fate that flows in the palm
Activates sun, moon and stars to circle
Under the lone lamp of men
Everything pairs in dark shades

The brothers of clock, hour and minute hands
Fight, frame an acute angle, and unite into one
The thunderbolts of illness roll into nocturnal hospitals
And bang your door open

The dawn appears on the stage as does a clown
The flames of morning light change your bedclothes
Where clocks and watches stop
The dart of time flies whistling past

Hurry, catch up with that chariot of death
A path taken by robbers in spring
Comes to investigate mountains' wealth
Streams wind the song's melancholy

Slogans hide in the walls
This world has not much changed:
Women turn back and merge into night
Men walk out from morning

Translation: Tao Naikan and Simon Patton