The Cry of a Generation

Shu Ting


I do not complain
about my misfortune
The loss of my youth,
The deforming of my soul.
Sleepless nights without number

have left me with bitter memories.
I have rejected all received truths,
I have broken free of all shackles,
And all that remains of my heart

is in ruins, as far as the eye can see . . .
But still, I have stood up!
I stand on the expanse of the horizon.
Never again will anyone, by any means,

be able to push me down.

If it were me, lying in a martyr's grave,
green moss eating away the characters on my headstone;
If it were me, savouring the taste of life behind bars,

debating points of law with my chains;
If it were me, my face haggard and pale,

atoning for my crimes with an eternity of labour;
If it were me, it would be

my tragedy alone