[后后记]当时《新语丝》有一个小专辑，在顾城弑妻子自缢之后。诗中的不少意向，来自顾城的专辑《双桅船》。一个绝代的诗人，生活中的败者。可惜。

 　　　无　题
 
偶然在空枝采来的一声鸟鸣
入夜还反复说着江南
老在梦中悬着的那一挂月色
即便摘下  却也不可轻易入袖
 
如果苍白泛来似一叶舟
又何妨薄衣轻衫地敞怀登上
风蓬所指应是九天之外的星河
至于漆黑的天幕  岂不是轻轻地一剑
   就可以挑落的。。。

It has been, well, how long? It was a decade ago that this poem was written, dedicated to an event that was then 6 years old -- that makes it a 16 year's anniversary.

16 years -- that is a very long time, this is a window of time that can change anything, grow any thing, destroy anything, and forget anything...

But not quite.

I sometimes think it a blessing that every generation be marked with something that can identify itself in the book of history or -- however insignificant it may be -- in the leaflet of personal journal.

Make no mistake: our generation may sin on many things, but void of ideals we were not. This is, to this day or to the day my soul is to be taken away, the true blessing that we had. Our times of youth was infested by flood of culture clashes (see the first stanza), we were confused but we thought and fought for the goodness of the country, the dignity of the people and, perhaps unconsciously, the identy of ourselves.

Does the ends justify the process, or the other way round? At the time of writing the poem, I had already made the reconciliation that the process itself matters, and peace and stability is the true breeding ground for progress, at least for China at that time. For that, and not for that alone, I had received quite many flaming posts in ACT. But I don't care.

Yet I also do not forget. This is going to be a personal river all to myself, the one that I will never be able to cross.

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        　渡　河（二首）

        　　　——　第六年·为活着的和死去的

        　　（一）

        这是一片古老广阔的土地
        在天空下可以继续伸展
        却一直被许多河流捆绑着
        捆绑着　而且
        　　一直很渴

        于是有许多船　许多大汗淋淋的船
        桨叶飞上飞下　信号灯
        忽红忽绿　忙忙碌碌地载着
        许多尊佛和上帝在河上穿梭不已
        （他们偶尔在船头相遇
        　　　就有一两声很冷的冷笑发出）

        一些佛运到东岸　兀自拈花微笑
        一些上帝放到西岸　依然愁眉不展
        剩下的那些在黄昏之前
        　　就已酣然睡去

        　　（二）

        为了一个预言　我日夜兼程
        黄昏之前终于赶到那座野渡
        无人
        　　　舟
        　　　　　自横的　那座

        他从河心的漩涡中升起　如约而至
        闪闪的河水从双肩瀑布般地飞落
        上岸的时候　天色
        　　一下就暗了下去

        风声凄唳　我们相对无言
        膝间的野花开了第六朵
        他才轻轻地开口：
        “天下没有不能渡的河”
        “除了一条”，他说
        “那条横流在你心中的河”

        他的话音把月亮从月亮的影子里拉出
        照亮远处雪白的一片芦苇
        于是就有许多条臂膀　从河中
        　　哗然地举起

                　——　竹人　6/5/95　草于　香槟城

It is spring time in Beijing, the time of green, and the time of flowers.

Almost 10 years ago, I was still studying in UIUC. Spring in Urbana-Champaign has just arrived. Watching TV for a casual moment, a scene flashed over the screen. It was a cemetery of many unidentified souls, dead in the battle of World War III. A green hill are planted with -- not trees, but thousands of thousands of white cross, and the sky is strikingly deep-blue. Yes, a forest of white cross. It is painfully beautiful, and deafeningly silent.

War happens at a time, and leaves marks that are timeless.

Let me fast-forward to two years' ago, when I went to Japan for the first time. I was on a subway, for a very brief moment I was confused: I thought I was in Shanghai. Subways in Shanghai is not much different than those in Japan; a few years back they were. But the point is, when I looked around and not hearing people talking, the Japan people look just like my folks. There is no telling: they are yellow skin, dark hair, minding their own business... It downed to me that, yes -- they are indeed my own people, in a sense, from the same root, but only in a very distant past. Have we forgoten that, or have they?

All wars, from the perspective of human race as a whole, is "civil war." It's just that simple. If you think quibbling with your family member is silly, aggression against other countries is equally if not more stupid. Blind nationalism, too, is dangerous.

Peace has to be fought for. There is a very sense of irony in the statement.

This afternoon, I am leaving for Tokyo again.

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五　月　花　海

　　　　　——　纪念欧战胜利日五十周年

        就在那一片向阳的坡上
        是白白的森林永远不长
        那是天堂鸟必须来却
        　　永远不敢降落的地方

        ——十字架
        你祈祷的钟声里总有
        一股浓烈的硝烟味让我
        　　咳嗽不止并且　流泪

        半个世纪的花开花落已经够了
        要怎么样的贫血才需要
        　　五十年长的一根输血管
        请所有的鲜花都暂停开放吧请随我
        　　停止一下心跳

        会有第三只眼睛么　你说
        我的手沉重地翻过这一页
        ——这一页没有呼吸

        ——竹人        5/8/1995