Translated…

Opening My Eyes, Saw a Figure, Squatting

At the Head of Wind, the Tail of Water, Ready, to Stand Back Up

The Fogs, Hovered Over Every Inch of My Hometown

Come! Hear Our Heartbeats

The Unrhythmic Tempo, Was the Sound of Roots, Exploding in the Planted Fields

The Souls of Eels, Struggling Hard

The Watermelons that Had Stopped Breathing, Looking Hard, for the Direction of Where Their Breaths Went

Come! Come Hear Our Hearts Beat

It’s a Body, Singing, at the Lowest Level of Life

In the Blackened Mud, Keeping Together, Bringing All of the Hopes

Into Being

Red Alert, Red Alert……Pulling Tightly, Our Shoulders Which Were Right Next to One Another’s

Not Elsewhere, Right in This Hometown of Ours that’s Ceased Breathing

We Breath! We Keep on Breathing! Breathing, is a Way to Rebel

As We Rose Up, Our Legs Found Themselves in the Blackened Muddied Paddies

Black, the Color of the River of Our Mothers

Black, the Color from Being Out Under the Sun Too Long

Mud, is the Scars from the Survival of Hard Labor

Mud, the Marks of Rebellion Against the Pollution of Our Land

This, is very touching, seeing how your original countryside hometowns, getting slowly, invaded with the industrializations of the modern world, and, you felt you needed to do something, so, you rebelled!

not my photo…

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