Yang Kailiang Chinese, b. 1974

Bamboo

Since ancient times, ancestors have dwelt with bamboo, sheltered by its shade. Observing the evergreen hues, smelling the fragrant leaves, I listen to the bamboo rustling with the wind and rain, and drift into sleep.

When fierce winds and sudden rains come, the gusts do not last the morning, nor the showers the day. In the calm of neither wind nor rain, nor clear skies, it stands upright, as pristine as jade.

Bamboo bears the weight of history and poetry—how much has it witnessed? I wish to bring a small bamboo stool, to sit amidst the grove, revisiting the old to discover the new.

By the young, Yang Kailiang
Third month of the Jia Chen year, by the Black Tiger Spring, Quancheng