Monday, September 5, 2011

Zou Jingzhi


The wheat reaper
has ground his sickle
His wine is also ripe
like the sickle

The wheat is waiting
to fall
like friends far away
coming over
to fall into your arms

He hears
the sound of wheat meeting the sickle
He is that sickle
as well as the wheat

If there were no winter
the reaper would have given up the harvest
Wine agrees
when it cuts his throat

translated by Wang Ping and Murar Nemet-Nejar

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