Two Poems
Translated by Zhu Yage

Martyr
The strong wind these days
as a roman crew across streets
uproots everything unanchored
crucifies shrouds on balcony rails
Behold! A tree is being peeled off
When the last layer falls
will it still stick to his cause
You sits there, striving to
curate the gale's brutal verses
in every insert, in every backspace
The shattered tree suffers most inwardly
No need for theatrics of air to crown its pathos
May you read close enough to hear the silent Suffer
Read! Till the mute Martyr moves your marrow