Confession
Wen Yiduo

I don’t deceive you, I am no poet,
Though I adore the integrity of the white gem,
The green pine, the vast sea,
The setting sun on the crow’s back
And the dusk woven with the wings of bats.
You know I love heroes and towering peaks,
A national flag fluttering in the wind,
Chrysanthemums from tender yellow to antique bronze.
Remember that my food is a pot of bitter tear!

But will it scare you to know that other me?—
Whose fly-like thoughts crawl in the garbage can.