Dunzhe Ling
An apple was sacrificed.
In the tunnel between light and darkness
So is my throat.
It's like a man with COVID-19.
I have a sore throat.
The apple I swallowed.
It saved me.
When I look out the window at the world that flies by.
I realized that this also saved the world.
The train is still running.
The fat girl opposite me
I am reading a book called "The Model of Parents".
The person next to me
Wolf down instant noodles.
None of this is as interesting as the river I just saw.
It should have a name similar to virgin spring.
But the truth is no.
Winter hasn't started yet.
The Woods in the distant mountains are very desolate.
They don't want to be in front of the snow in winter
Make any resistance—
I'm still on this speeding train.
Resist yourself calmly.
How calm am I?
It's so calm that I want to cry out loud.
Look at some aunts coming up with big bags and small bags.
I looked at the distant sky again.
As if there really was a cloud there.
A very white cloud
Under the clouds
There is a square tree.
A square is a square.
It's Maolin's idea of cultivating bamboo.
On the playground I just passed.
Every student's name is "Fang Mao"
I was there yesterday.
I went back to my alma mater.
Of course there are no students in it.
In the only cave with the door open
Full of weeds and worn-out tires
Above the black blackboard.
I don't know where the word "fen" of unity and forge ahead has fallen.
I secretly told Fang Mao.
The word "fen" fell into the dark universe.
The universe wandered on the black blackboard.
This is a train with no end.
It didn't reach the end until I went to sleep.
When I woke up, it was still moving forward—
Poems by Dunzhe Ling, an independent scholar, writer and artist.