Ti-Anna Wang


Ti-Anna Wang

There is a daughter who speaks about her father
As democracy once spoke for the people

Who are not deficient
They are not absent from their freedom

We live for purposes
And dreams like Chinese democracy

We were not born this way
We were moved by the world

To speak about injustice, human rights violations
We witnessed sacrifices for unspeakable courage

We are not martyrs, we are still fathers
Though imprisoned we dwindle in time

That spirit lives on like 1989
Whispers that China will shed One-State party rule

Warnings that the U.S. will reinvent tyranny
We are from both worlds, hospitable and ruthless

Male and female, politics is in everything
There’s no escaping corruption, revolution

Law, and the will for freedom is a will to power
And freedom is never free from inequality

There is no promised land of perfection
Only rudimentary ideas of what should be

There is a daughter who speaks of justice
And I cry for all the ways which we are
Enslaved, imprisoned, not free.

Ti-Anna, you are not a dissident
You are the heir to the new world
And it speaks Mandarin, and it’s free
Free in a patriotism of being global citizens

Free in the hope that our lineage leads
To a place where there are no dissidents
There is no abandonment, only people
Living and loving the only way they know how.

Odes to Ren & Chou


holidays

In the implacable sweetness at the edge of time
I was there, somehow with you
Lost in forever, with the thrill of the universe

In our brief work on this particular planet
Earth, climbing for the flowers of the future
There was no us and them, only a weird inclusion

Of all we had become, the thirst of history
The salt-rose and topaz tears of the dilemmas
Like the philosophy of equality and feminism

That burned with the ashes of a billion lives
In secret, we triumphed over fate, by our failures
We who were trampled by white men and government policies

My love, it feeds on your love for a united future
Where colors do not separate us, and birth-status does
Not enslave us, where leaders can be women

I love you as the downtrodden looks for opportunity
As in my own life’s chastity in years of poverty
At the furnace of the barren wombs of youth

I think of your lineage and how you came to stand in this spot
I trace your ideas like the blue birds of revolution
Tomorrow, we will give them a leaf from the tree of our love

Silent and starving, we will prowl the webnet for signs
Of our victory, decades from now
When machines rule the corridors of great decisions

The liquid measures of your steps will lead back here
An open-AI of how we fought for something bigger than ourselves
And gave our best years to a journey we could not name.

The Poetic Dilemma


11

Words answer my April
Words answer my every month
Every state, has a Window or a Minister

My feeling are of Two bodies
My soul and its liberty persist
I know it then, by the numb look

Of Neighbors, and the lost delight
Of Lovers, where is the Bee and blush?
For it is not yet Spring – and I am lone

Language is my last successor of pain
I am trapped in its Vitality
Self-Obliterating is the choir

Who that visits the Night is my poetic chore
Words answer my April
I make words for every hour

There is no Education in poetry
Only pure-feeling, as ashamed as courtesans
Here I contrast all currencies.