THOUGHTS OF FEBRUARY By Jiang Shuting
THOUGHTS OF FEBRUARY
Jiang Shuting
February pales in comparison to the imperial canons and edicts.
It lacks the fire to rekindle a dead lamp deep in the mountain.
Without a word theemperor left the mountain for the bamboo grove to find his true self.
He bestows the kingdom to the fox, the fox to the badger, and the badger to the river, so the story goes.
But February is not March, we are not enticed to say flowery words as when Spring deepens.
Only small beads of light accompany those mending mottled garments while the east wind blows,
and young swallows under the hallway eaves remind people of a forgotten past.
February lacks zest, its waters are no match to a crow’s daring
and bright calls; only the orioles are intrigued by its infinite possibilities.
The thin frost lies low, the calligraphy continues to pile up, and the fallen petals are gone with last year’s poems,
songs become muddled like horse hooves splattering in the mud,
and the ancient road instigates unrest to remote villages.
The sky looks flat, lanterns hung from the cliff illuminate mountains faraway,
but make water nearby look darker.
Believe it or not, February looks forlorn, like an orphan eagle roaming barefoot.
February perplexes us, there’s the longing in the flute's melody,
a drifting leaf won’t let go of its desolate homeland,
and there is the pain etched by the truth in drunken words,
haunting like crickets and tides of time past.
The courtyard trapped our years, youth vanished under the roof.
My love’s Facebook page reads like a couplet in a dismal Spring, which echoes us,
unreachable are you at the unfathomable night,
your fears of myloneliness doubled by the chill.
Oh February.
The years pass, February brings uncertain news.
As I write, I guess the time you wake up,
the time of your return after the midnight hour.
Yearning to hear your footsteps as if longing for lush green,
eyes hurt in their long gaze from the hilltop. What drives you to exile?
Oh, February, you are heavy snow, but will in time be a peerless beauty.
Though dreams unfulfilled, I will be steadfast, reaching the unreachable. Let me sigh,
let me remember how water bends, how boulders make hollow sounds,
March will bring rain to earth, heaven will be kind.
About the poet:
Jiang Shuting is a freelance poet. He reads, recites and writes poems. He advocates the secrecy in poetic creation, and holds that defamiliarization can strengthen the vitality of poetry and provide technical support for poetry to achieve continuous breakthroughs.