A New Poem on Sichuan Earthquake

One of my colleagues wrote this poem after having viewed the picture on line. I got his permission to translate it and share it with you.

Rows of Backpacks near the Ruin



Uncle
You came too late
Collapsed beams
Broke my teacher’s body that had protected me
Tons of bricks and debris
Blocked our way out

My tears are dried
I
Had no more energy to yell
My injured legs
Becoming numb
The blood on my wound
Were all stopped flowing
The breath
Was a luxury to us
Let me try again
Hold on to this last bit of fresh air
Breathe in

Mom
As I am leaving
I left my favor backpack
It was filled with
My dreams
My laughs
Those red marks on my assignment books
Were the praises from my teacher
Those bite marks on the pencils
Were my pondering and searching
That getting smaller eraser
Imprinted my progresses
Those well used textbooks
Brought me many beautiful dreams
My hopes and wishes
And
That wonderful family portrait
And the pictures of picnic with my friends

Oh, Mom
How nice
To be living

Backpack
Those many colorful backpacks
It carried
So many of our dreams
Lots of our laughs and giggles
Why
Did ‘He’ take away
So many precious young lives
Why
That stormy weather
Destroyed those pretty flower buds
Their young lives
Were just starting
Their dreams
Were just forming
Their parents
Were on their way to meet with them
In a instant
They were all gone
At the ruin
Only left with
Rows of backpacks