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INTERNATIONAL CAMPAIGN FOR TIBET
DECEMBER
A poem by Woeser
1. ‘Hear ye!’ The big lie shall blot the sky,
Two sparrows in the woods shall fall.
“Tibet,” he says, “Tibet is fine and flourishing!”
The furious girl will not bite her tongue.
Everywhere the monastic robe has lost its color.
They say, It’s to save our skin.
But that one, oh,
The steaming blood poured out, the hot blood!
In the next life, who will grieve for him?
2. Stormclouds! Doom!
In my mind’s eye I see.
I know if I don’t speak now
I’ll be silent forever.
Sullen millions,
Lift up your hearts.
He was sacrificed once,
That man of deep red hue.
But as the tree of life is evergreen,
A soul is always a soul.
3. A worse defeat!
Thousands of trees, blighted as never before,
The little folk are quiet as a cricket in the cold.
The pair of praying hands
Was chopped off
To cram the bellies of kites and curs.
Oh, that rosary unseen,
Who is worthy with a firm hand
To pick it up from the slime of this world?
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