Gu Cheng, China
I guess my mother spoiled me –
I'm a headstrong boy. I want every instant
to be as lovely as crayons.
I'd like to draw – on chaste white paper –
a clumsy freedom, eyes that never wept,
a piece of sky, a feather, a leaf,
a pale green evening, and an apple.
I'd like to draw dawn, the smile dew sees,
the earliest tenderest love – an imagined love
who's never seen a mournful cloud,
whose eyes the color of sky will gaze at me
forever, and never turn away.
I'd like to draw distance, a bright horizon,
carefree, rippling rivers, hills sheathed in green fur.
I want the lovers to stand together in silence,
I want each breathless moment to beget a flower.
I want to draw a future I've never seen –
nor ever can – though I'm sure she'll be beautiful.
I'll draw her an autumn coat the color of flame,
and maple leaves, and all the hearts that ever loved her.
I’ll draw her a wedding, an early morning garden party,
swathed in candy-wrappers decked with winter scenes.
I'm a headstrong boy. I want to paint out every sorrow,
to cover the world with colored windows,
let all the eyes accustomed to darkness
be accustomed to light. I want to draw wind,
mountains, each one bigger than the last.
I want to draw the dream of the East,
a fathomless sea, a joyful voice.
Finally, I'd like to draw myself in one corner –
a panda, huddled in a dark victorian forest,
hunkering in the quiet branches, homeless, lost,
not even a heart left behind me, far away,
only teeming dreams of berries
and great wide eyes.
This pining's pointless,
I haven't any crayons,
any breathless moments.
All I have are fingers and pain
I think I'll tear this paper to bits
and let them drift away
hunting for butterflies.
February 8, 2008
Gu Cheng, China