Poetry: The Kiss of A Poppy Flower by Shutao Liao

The Kiss of a Poppy Flower

1. The Stone

 

Old elements, suffusing within the hot burning,

death came one after another as waves, until they were solidified,

decayed acid through the intercourse of materials cooled lava, stones of different shapes,

eroded the soft dreams of land,

like a hand made from steel, to the deep layers of the earth,

or a giant claw of a beast,

grasping the living bulbs on roots tightly,

pinched and crushed all of their cell tissues,

until forced out,

the last drop of red tears.

 

Through water nonstoping pouring on, the gentle touch of thousands of years,

formed those beautiful as well as bright solid petals and buds,

breeded themselves continuously on the surface of the earth,

at the same time gradually inserted into the womb of the earth,

the weak beads of tears covering the fresh flowers,

could only slide down on their surfaces,

silently into the soil,

as another feast of worms,

another innocent sacrifice.

 

What kind of liquid, once shining inside the body of a bright stone,

moisturized its appearance?

transformed it into a brilliant existence of a solid life,

the hard might die because its hard,

the hand of desire, broken the bright stone into pieces,

let them become a part of the dust,

under the chilly stone,

unexpected deaths everywhere,

who destroyed them again after their countless deaths?

 

Water always walked around, water would never die.

 

What kind of power

agglutinated the broken stones again ?

became the streets of New York,

the huge shapes of buildings,

under the vast sky,

as stiff guards,

protecting the city,

streets like arteries extending to where footsteps could trample on,

a bright room on a Chelsea street,

who let a man and a woman surrounded by crowds of people,

copulate naked, in the spotlight, biting each other?

for the sake of the dignity of human nature,

under the roots of the transparent glass wall.

 

Next to Horace Harding Expressway in Queens,

on the second floor of a house,

five people from different places sat themselves down at the same table for a dinner,

they did not care about the vehicles on the highway,

carrying all kinds of people to different destinies,

they never knew the most of them,

would never meet them in the future either.

 

One person said that he came here from the sea,

originally was with his sister-in-law,

the moment a huge wave came,

saw her knocked off her entire lower body by the strength of two boats,

she shouted: "Help me!"

the snakehead kicked her into the water,

she disappeared into the body of the sea,

a vortex formed by the liquid.

He calmly narrated,

as if somebody else's story.

 

 

2. The Salt

 

I came from the East,

beneath the soft layer of vegetation,

there were red soil, limestone, veins of rocks,

after washed by the water over and over again,

melted into the sleeping water,

became the colorful psalm of the content of underground water,

non-stop chanted by the mouth of time for,

the material classics separated from materials,

after a long time,

a long time more than time could be calculated,

people put up huge wood structures,

with an extremely long wood stick,

into the bottom of the earth where life could be nurtured,

the integration of the water with soil, limestone, veins of rocks,

took out from the heart of the earth,

under the gaze of the sun,

boiled it over the heat of thousand degrees,

the residues inside the soil, limestone, veins of rocks, differentiated again into a solid condition,

became salt,

memory could not be separated,

an element of life with a bitter history.

 

Let fire confront fire,

verifying the temperature of fire,

and also verifying the degrees of a life,

wind could have its length,

at the end of the length,

occasionally the fire would be crushed,

became ashes without any temperature.

 

When we were playing,

although very scared,

still climbed over the tall branches of eucalyptus tree,

with the help of a twig,

knocked down nests of sparrows,

fledglings no feather with red tender bodies,

were rolling on the grass with their lair,

children could not see the horror and mourning inside their eyes,

only heard the subtle echo from the mouths.

 

 

3. The Candle

 

She said she liked the place,

a restaurant near Greenwich Village of New York,

in the night,  lights sparkling on the branches of trees between tables,

candle lights reflecting the shadows from the cups of glass,

waitress,

please bring a few cups of bewitched wine,

let passion smash on the demeaning darkness of the night!

for a long time no such a gathering,

you such a lonely pilgrim,

temporarily stop your busy steps,

let the joy of tonight,

wash out the dust of your history.

 

She came from a very remote country,

as me, for love,

had chased to all corners of the world,

with the regard that love was the highest value of life,

you said that all love might contain the ingredients of pain,

for that was a real standing-fast in life,

in Verona of Italy,

and the gardens of Belgian,

we together had heard the echoes of remote lives,

scars all over the journey.

 

I could not refuse those biting kisses from the wind of god in extremely cold Winter,

and the burning sunshine on my skin as the beating raindrops in hot Summer,

I could not refuse on the open streets in the darkness,

walking far and far away, carrying my own heart,

to the wilderness of life, to visit my soul,

pushing the fingers apart, into my own body,

in the splits of the cells

or the orderly arrangements of chromosomes,

detecting the differences between the wonder of emotions and desires,

perhaps they were one,

establishment in destruction,

and destruction in establishment,

but I would not stop,

went to read all the pages of the book,

In the palace of the soul.

 

 

4. The Erosion

 

A girl,

in the early prime of her life,

just like a flower in bloom,

one day she told parents and sisters,

she was going to come to New York

with a group of equally young teenagers,

to eye witness this great city.

 

The sky of that day was brilliant as usual,

between 42nd Street to 43rd Street on Broadway,

suddenly a truck rushed up,

crushing the panic flows of people on the sidewalk,

screams of terror hit the ground,

hit the eye-catching, huge, beautiful window panes on the skyscrapers around,

death has cut off the veins of her life,

she could have a lot of dreams, a lot of children,

at that moment, has become the most unlikely luxury,

become another number in the countless deaths,

why? she extended her hands from another world.

 

People, where are you?

 

woo woo woo woo woo woo..., la la la la la la …

Shutao Liao is an honorary Master Member of Associazione Culturale “Italia in Arte" and an honorary    Master Member of Accademia “Italia in Arte nel Mondo” Associazione Culturale. He has received many awards worldwide, including Nelson Mandela Human Value Award and Shakespeare Award in 2014.