by Wang Shasha tr. Fan Jinghua
She hides herself in the deep sea, grinding teeth,
and avoids contact with air and dust.
When the sunlight makes for a nice morning, she smells
the scent of trees and yawns, making faces at nothingness
and searching for beautiful inutile toys.
When doing these, she radiates the sparkles of a maiden,
and some even warm the forest and marsh.
Under their silence goes an uncontainable subtle praise,
which makes her more sprightly and her radiance gentler.
The forest and marsh are so infatuated with her and surrender to her,
and even contain the wildness in them to acknowledge her dominion,
for she has neither scepter nor crown.
Yet, she is a queen, a self-evident Regina,
with or without courtiers or troops of her own.
Then she begins to trust humans, and becomes gloomy,
pain and softness flowing from her graphite pupils.
She gestates new lives in her and gives births in isolation,
regarding the sky in utter meekness.
If no one is willing to accommodate such an alien like her,
She will have to roam for her errant life.
"There are things one knows well to cherish, but
has to be wise enough to give up."
The gentle eyes of the beaver are smiling and attentive.
As long as she is alive, she is full of passion,
although sometimes she may appear to be a defeated warrior,
totally at a loss yet with a colossal pride
to die with her ultimate chaste
She has big and black eyes to secrete secrets,
and love to see dark blue water freezing into pale blue ice.
If schools of fish turn into constellations, she’d love to
overturn every order and farewell.
About the Poet:
Wang Shasha, born in late 1970s, writes poetry, essays and stories since 2004. Her work has appeared in various magazines and anthologies, and she won the Second Prize for Ye Hong International Women Poetry Competition in 2007. She now lives in Daqing, Heilongjiang Province, and serves as a webmaster in Poemlife.com, an influential poetry website in Mainland China.