Translated by Pingkwan Leung, Michelle Yeh, Afaa M. Weaver 2004
Your cushion receives gloryís rise and fall in a magic mirror
Mirages flashing, tycoons conjuring luxury high rises
Gaze into the train station that is gone, into the Long March further gone,
History sits with Earth, witnesses its constant layering of glaze.
As a chair, you have received white collar workers who sit dully all day long,
You have consoled vagabonds, saved runaways from the streets,
Given respite to refugees of war. Why not open your arms for more?
Let spirits of migrating birds rest here. The flying Dutchman has returned to the garden.
Twilight has fallen on the clock tower, from the concert hall fragments of music
Slow down the hurried pedestrians, quicken their numbed nerves.
Another personís creation, what is he trying to tell us?
You are depressed by the prolonged strain, but if you donít stand
How can people lean on you? Finally, I see you struggle to stand
In rain and fog, with last summerís setback one hope, to arrive at your rightful place
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