Sixteen Poems Reflecting on the 9/11 Attacks and the Afghan War

2006/4/24 22:54:50

During the period from the September 11 attacks through the Afghan War, I wrote some related poems. Collected here for reflection.

I

This is a day that demands blood
Hatred shreds hatred
Terror shreds terror
Matter topples its fragile symbols
Molten gold scorches the eyes of the earth

Rock, milky white, sutures the earth's coarse anguish
The war of evil against evil challenges the extremes of evil
Each is another's wellspring of the void

All directions — lost in unfamiliar inertia

II

A workday that never began
What began was only dust that shrouds everything
The dust of hatred shrouds every sky
Everything like dust, swirling

Nothing that began

Matter fragments scraps of paper swirling
Swirling scraps inscribed with illusory truths
Seeds hatred rampaging again and again
Orange light seals every passage

The closing that never began

Trembling hatred crawls through the bright ruins
Again and again the soaring of flesh and spirit mocks the hardness of matter
The closing that never began closes every beginning
The beginning that never closed begins every closing

The swirling with nothing to shroud — the dog — pays no mind

III

A voice with no date is not ancient
Today's antiquity — a voice with no date
Ancient today withering day by day
A date with no voice slides toward some starry sky

Another world of another kind exists
Speaking of one after another's phantasm
Some starry sky — a voice with no date
Today, not ancient, withering the starry sky's calendar

Voices phantasmagoric existing without date
Sliding toward the ancient today
Speaking the withering that has no date

IV

Dust of war darkens the realm — the sun's shadow fades at the horizon.
Condensed clouds refuse to scatter — broken rain falls yet flies.

V

From the northwest, wolf-smoke rises — wind howls, blood soaks the flags.
Barbarian pipes grieve, snapping trees — enemy blades darken in frozen light.
When the land is perilous, the people still suffer — in hard times, bandits grow fat.
Where killing frost strips all bare — I reach to pick bracken, but find none left.

VI

The long river startles the falling Han Pass — in the vast desert, lone smoke dyes blood-red.
Nameless skulls fatten the frontier grass — at Luntai, ghostly vapors darken the border sky.
Since ancient times, war has ruined the common folk — how can arms and weapons bring a flourishing age?
Barbarian horses whinny, still ringing in the ear — on the battlefield, cold sand awaits the hanging bow.

VII

By the nameless river, bones may still lie — under the Hu sky in June, horse pastures are lush.
Today again I see wolf-smoke rising — from what bridal chamber does someone dream of returning home?

VIII

The setting sun flings blood to wash the mortal world — evening air congeals to ice at the frigid pass.
A thousand li, geese return where wind splits water — nine autumns, tumbleweeds turn where mist enfolds mountains.
Since ancient times, war-bleached bones still linger white — in this moment, smoke of battle gathers denser still.
At nightfall, mournful cries sound like ghosts weeping — under a frosty sky, dark and bleak, a face of sorrow.

IX

Snow presses on the Kunlun for thirty thousand li — gale winds shave the earth for nine thousand years.
The Heavenly Gate is blocked, golden spears in chaos — the Dipper's handle grows cold, iron curtains spin.
Rats and ants rob the dust, drunk on battle-blood — fish and shrimp cling to the imperial net, craving greasy scraps.
The ice peaks shall finally melt in merciless fire — the Milky Way turned to ash, will there still be a ship?

X

Sun darkened, wind reeking, competing in blood-red — the whole globe chases the deer, war-thunder booms. For whom does such swaggering arrogance prevail?
Floating clouds at the mountain's edge shift past and present — flowing water before the gate runs west to east. Everywhere in the mortal world, bows aim at heaven.

XI

Kalpa-fire drifts through distant skies — smoke-clouds sear the sun to yellow.
Wall Street sinks in a sea of blood — the tower becomes a burial ground.
Ghosts laugh — who weeps? — Eagles fly — what's the rush?
The dust-wave departs, still vigorous — night rain flirts with autumn's cool.

XII

Slanting sun spatters blood, spreading ten thousand folds of grieving clouds.
High on the terrace, cruel wind — the gorge's waves surge — gazing to the endless open sky.
Jade becomes dust — stars and constellations crack.

Through a hundred dynasties, the blaze of gunpowder — severed arms, broken limbs, to quench the corpse-worms' thirst.
Pity all sentient beings, through eternity foolishly grinding against each other.
The sea is boundless — a single leaf of a boat.

XIII

Wasted waters, ruined mountains — cold clouds, frozen mists — heaven's gale grinds a thousand encircling trees to pieces.
The crow hides, the hare dies — mournful the sound of weeping — the Sun Pool's waves turn to blood, flying red rain.

The ghost-prison has no walls — in the mortal world, all paths are lost — why bother with kalpa-flames to scorch the scorched earth?
The karma of all beings in this world dissolves into emptiness of its own — who shall this mutual torment be sent to?

XIV

Where in heaven and earth is there no red dust? — The furious sun whips wind and lightning back.
Scorching seas, capsizing waves, dragon-blood boils — burning skies, sweeping the cosmos, the earth's axis collapses.
The whole globe bustles — how delightful indeed! — The three realms blaze — how exhilarating!
Ask not about the future at the bottom of the pool — one part foolish turbidity, one part ash.

XV

When awareness itself becomes defilement, it cages the pearl's light — ghost, beast, man, and god, each busy on their own.
From the Eastern Sea, dust rises; on the Northern Ocean, fire — how do you know that Avici Hell is not refreshingly cool?

XVI

Gale-winds coil around the cliff-side sun — the owl flies, broken-winged, screaming.
Perilous peaks block the star-roads — empty valleys surge with cloud-castles.
A lone shadow stands between heaven and earth — twin pupils gaze across past and present.
The spinning wheel of the life-and-death prison — beyond the sky, the great river gleams.