POEM TO HAN-SHAN
The place where I must spend my days
Has no cold mountain, no crowded peaks
Or wild vines stirring in the windless air.
Here purpled smog plays on the ashes
Of a thousand futile fires;
Beneath the ashes huddled sleepers stir
And I must watch, lest they awake and
Smother. But I too am under ashes
And cannot breathe, yet may not die.
- Lorena Barros