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A political prisoner listening to a cicada – Luo Bingwang

While the year sinks westward, I hear a cicada
Bid me to be resolute here in my cell,
Yet it needed the song of those black wings
To break a white-haired prisoner’s heart….
His flight is heavy through the fog,
His pure voice drowns in the windy world.
Who knows if he be singing still? – –
Who listens any more to me?


非谓文墨,取代幽忧云尔。
西路蝉声唱, 南冠客思侵。
那堪玄鬓影, 来对白头吟。
露重飞难进, 风多响易沉。
无人信高洁, 谁为表予心。

2016-06-22

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