Fugitive Journey

For those days waiting no longer

out of my old neighbor's

floating the childish odor

of the dates to be red and ripe

while clusters of grape

dyed charmingly with frost purple

and golden palace roofs glittering a fall eve,

I chose one fair morning of May

and hid myself within windows of a train.

Along the parallel hope wheels rolled.

I was all in tears looking forward.

My eyes cut the waves of wheat, blindly.

On fathers' corpses, O the cold hair silvery.

'When the iron mollusc reached its end

at a seashore sorrily but happily I stood.

Wind mourned cruelly coming from afar,

it presented me the stranger garment.

But I was promised to get a cabin.

Then struggled myself down and up

skating beautiful curvilinear traces

referring to dot chords on a map in textbook.

Balanced monotonous days, a dialogue

between two free-minded gulls and me.

Morning shine washed their milky wings.

Two or three points of little boats

"Last year I safely made my escape from Peiping where Japanese paws

had then occupied for three hundred days.

Lit TYNG Kweı

twinkled afar like stars at dawn.

Violent water could never put out their light.

I was comfortable deeply in my heart.

One day the steam cell touched the favorite soil,

The southern corner of this bloody old country;

and spontaneous energy carried me out with joy

up peaks adorned with necklaces of clouds.

Under the leaves of green palm powerful

I kissed the Nation's toes.

Li Tyng Kwei