Rock Painting on the Mandela

It rises from the desert into clouds

It sinks into the river of eternity

Time can’t wash away

Its short-lived glory

Like the fragrance of a Havana cigar

Or the storm of the leftists’ era

Vodka in a flask

A photo of Lennon and Yoko

Oh how we loved peace

No we were just thirsty for love

Like the Alashan in the distance

The Mongolian Plateau passes by us, whistling

As I gulp down the spirit of Erguotou

The rocks keep rising

Exposing themselves on the hills

Like locked up prisoners

The moon hangs over the Mandela’s

Painting. The rocks seem quiet

Waiting for the arrival

Of light and falling stars

We stir our cappuccino

With a spoon

Honey on the tip of the tongue

This is a strange world

When rocks arrive

Nobody will carry knives

Glistening in the dark streets

Rocks will drown us and our sheep