Wednesday, February 14, 2018

Sitting in Mom's Class
Cynthia Zhang
Written on September 25, 2011


Sitting in Mom's Class

I smiled to my memory of mom
As my first English teacher.
I cannot help wondering
What it took for her to teach me
In a class she organized for me.

I can still see my childhood friends
Chasing, laughing, peeking into
That secret cage of a caught owl.
I just begin to see mom
In a very different light
As a young, vibrant, and cordial
Companion and teacher.

She is an un-erasable element
In everything I have become.

And I want to grow with another human being
Into something bigger than the two of us.
Something knit together by an irresistable
Urge to embrace each other as
Companion, comrade, and the eventual home.
Just like the home mom built for me
With warmth, understanding, and knowledge.

Sunday, January 14, 2018

I Wish I Were Dying
Cynthia Zhang
Written December 22, 2017

I wish I were dying
I wish I were the one.
I wish I were dying for you.
I wish I could bear all your pain.
I wish for my wish
You would live on forever.
No, for selfishness’s sake,

Please live as long as I live. 

Tuesday, November 14, 2017

逆水行舟-读王岐山卸任
Sailing
Cynthia Zhang
November 14, 2017

逆水行舟-读王岐山卸任

逆水行舟
不进则退
溯源强国梦
不敢忘、不能忘。

科学、民主、平等,
承载着
国人的厚望
几代人的牺牲。

发展与公平
勤考量
民生和私交
细权衡
修身为公
琢器亦为公。

畅想夕阳西下
归港的巨轮
驶向万家灯火
追逐杀人鲸的兴奋
圆了一个童年的梦。


一个与妈妈爸爸讲故事的梦。



Saturday, October 14, 2017

Memories
Cynthia Zhang
Written October 2009

Memories
          Memories without photos are pearls. They shimmer in the darkness when the sand around them is filtered again and again by time.

          Memories with photos age. They cannot help. When the frames of the photos turn yellow (in the computer age, photos age as technology evolves), memories dim with the dated background and the old-fashioned clothes, hairstyle and smile. The only pleasant reason for flipping through old photos is to find a wrinkleless, fresh face. That face answers your questions about the growing youth around you.

Thursday, September 14, 2017

Wrap Up Life in the U.S.
Cynthia Zhang
Written on June 23, 2014



Life can be wrapped up,

Like a box of jigsaw puzzles.

Life can be turned on and off,

Like water in a faucet.

You are being sent away

By prejudice and indifference.

But you also have gained

The most precious friends.

Monday, August 14, 2017

Solitude - Mountain Tops
Cynthia Zhang
August 14, 2017

Solitude - Mountain Tops

I believe in humanity.
So I walked away alone.

The mountain top of ambition,
I climbed in solitude.
The mountain top of compassion,
I reached in solitude.
The mountain top of justice
I arrived in solitude.

The gray rain
And the red sunset behind it
Saw me walk in the mountains
So that my beloved ones
Would never be outsiders.

I go.
But you will see
Three green mountain tops
In a short summer
Surrender.

When my baby brother asks,
Tell him:
His equally beautiful eyes
Need not be misty

For I lived humanity.

Friday, July 14, 2017

Learning from Classics
July 14, 2017

I have always been fascinated by literary classics and have tried to learn from them in my own writing that I hope can be 1% as good as these classics. One of the literary giants is an English writer Tagore (1861-1941) from India. I will copy and paste a conversation between a child and his/her mother that appeals to me, probably also to many from different backgrounds: race/ethnicity, nationality, gender, class, and other aspects because we have the ability to feel and empathize. And I will continue to learn from them how to write literary pieces.

The Beginning
          "Where have I come from, where did you pick me up?" the baby asked its mother.
          She answered half crying, half laughing, and clasping the baby to her breast -- "You were hidden in my heart as its desire, my darling.
          You were in the dolls of my childhood's game; and when with clay I made the image of my god every morning, I made and remade you then.
          You were enshrined with our household deity, in his worship I worshipped you.
          In all my hopes and my loves, in my life, in the life of my mother you have lived.
          In the lap of the deathless spirit who rules our home you have been nursed for ages.
          When in girlhood my heart was opening its petals, you hovered as a fragrance about it.
          Your tender softness bloomed in my youthful limbs, like a glow in the sky before the sunrise.
          Heaven's first darling, twin-born with the morning light, you have floated down the stream of the world's life, and at last you have stranded on my heart.
          As I gaze on your face, mystery overwhelms me; you who belong to all have become mine.
          For fear of losing you I hold you tight to my breast. What magic has snared the world's treasure in these slender arms of mine?"