Mother also had her exquisite body,
like undulating landscape.
But her spring is too small.
Crops and thatches buried the riot of her colours.
She shut her door tight, to be away
from fantasies and stories.
For the entire life she have ever opened her door
for only three: my father
and the other two are children of her birth.
Mother's key lays in the hands of others;
Mine in my own.
I love homely fare, as well as scenes of debauchery.
I enjoy the morning bell and evening drum,
but no less the pleasure to follow the ebb and flow.
I would not shut my door, but shall never
open it for devils.
Should you turn the keyhole, the treasure is all there,
for you might be the one making me feel sorry
not to have met sooner.
About the author:
Zhuang Ling is the author the poetry collection Natural Colour.
Her works appear in many major Chinese literature magazines
People's Literature, Poetry Periodical, October, Zhongshan, etc.
Zhuang also won a number of prizes for poetry.
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