Why the god of fate destines
That not let my chop- and- change lute
Only sing the brilliant heroic glories
The old and gray days’ friendship and
Love unknown by the world?
The god of Death and Cupid
Cross at the gap between blood and fire
The pitch-black night cut down the brightness of
Long daylight, like a flashing
Of a circle of happiness and sorrows of
The earthly life; two thin and long figures moving
As dark shades crept over the edges of
The hill brook running
Still under the icy-snowy surface.
The early morning when the enemy planes come bombing,
The incendiary bombs' fire blocked mountain passes,
Forced Yang Yi-ping and Jiang Hui withdrawing
With the wounded soldiers on their backs
Away from the death threatening,
Away from their bunkers;
The noises of bombers busting were deafening,
Endlessly shook the hills and trees;
A little deer, seemed in panic, standing
On the edge of the icy-river,
Waited for a quiet moment.
UN jet fighters swooped down with machine-guns,
Several napalm bombs striking a grove of pines.
Serviced with days and nights those young nurses
Now in the boiling smoke and banning fires.
Jiang Hui bent and walked with
A clumsy sway rescued Cao Mu-yun from
A bunker, but eyed another war-victim
In his bleeding straps died.
The death-making American planes
Gone in their air, the people
Of field surgical hospital dug the holes
And buried the dead ones.
Jiang Hui couldn’t hold her tears
Back in eyes in sorrow, because
She recalled the heart-broken days
When Japan airplanes bombed at Shanghai city,
let her father and young brother as refugees
died on the road, hit by a bloody bomb-splinter,
Near the bank of Huangpu River.
Cried in silence,
Yang Yi-ping leaned against Jiang Hui
She had experienced so many miseries
Through old war-time, like
A succession of harsh and tyrannical disasters
Kept running through the fatherland.
On a windy-snowy night,
Wounded Cao Mu-yun
On a stretcher transferred into a truck;
With her soft voice, Jiang Hui said to him
As the smooth-flowing of a moonlighted-brook:
“In the hospital behind lines stay calmly,
Please often send me a letter
Let me know you always ok.”
Be her love and yet her in his eyes,
A flower feeds on the sun.
A paper wrap mildly put into his hands,
The voice warm
Dropped to a whisper:
“Don’t open it unless
The destination approached.”
At the moment the beating of a young heart
Suddenly echoed the love-thinking ahead.
Lay on the truck
That transforming backward casualties
And the field- hospital his glance traveled down
And the mud huts dim-smaller in distance
And the road quiet long gone
Beneath the skies；
All that he now left behind seemingly
Not the gory fields
Death –wallowed but instead the Eden in pink dreams.