Daughter's little hands are caressing my head, A pair of tweezers
Pull out a hair one after another
These hairs, mostly white, shining luster of precious metals
Some half grey, like mercury in a tiny glass tube
Few still black, innocent, implicated for her mistakes
"Oh, I'm sorry." She apologizes again and again, and commands me
Sit up straight, do not move, let her solemnly
destroy the evidence of her collusion with Time
I straighten up my neck, but actually thinking about that day
In 766 A.D.,In Kuizhou, in front of a mirror
A frustrated old poet, pulling white hairs with tweezers
Then wrote a poem,presented it to the governor
(As if his hair was so significant that it should be recorded and reported
To the central government. Or all levels of government
And whole empire, should be blamed
For his wasteful aging without any great achievement )
I can not help smirking, secretly speculate
The governor's impression of reading the poem
But when I smirk , I also smirk for my smirk :
It should be admitted that his hair whitening process was also the process
Of Chinese poetry toward the highest, deepest, farthest
And to mine, at best, it is just my daughter's entertainment
- When she grows up, its entertainment value will disappear
2011-09-23