You think with his death there will be the tremblingof heaven and earth,but no, only silence comingfrom the furrowed field, whereHe’d been yoked like a beastwho was never knownto modern machinery.He fought once,twice maybe, but the weight of too muchhistory crushed him, too many ordersfrom those who brandished the whips.In the end, he was tossed into the Yangtze River,though polluteda long time ago, when the industrial slogans flewlike conjuring flagsabove the odor of death.
The sordid land,once bearer of all the sweat and bloodand hope, looked away from too hot a sunand sobbedat night — morning would surelyfake a few tears.
There were no more beasts, you said,only man to obey and surrender to a forcenot so natural—an organized force,a ponderous structure above you and me.
***