THE GOBI
Peak School, Jack Rong, Poetry: Group 2
The Gobi,
always growing,
the wind is always blowing.
Climate changes,
dust storms draw near,
and houses disappear.
The
shā mò,
in winter’s cold,
but that’s not the story told;
Coming in summer,
the ground is flaming,
and towards the sun, you do your blaming.
The
hàn hǎi
,
contains plateaus,
but also has rocks that stub toes.
Here has mountains,
here camels graze,
here people can sky-gaze.
The
gē bì,
crossing the Great Wall,
is a place where tourists always crawl.
Meandering along the Silk Road,
meandering through China,
meandering through Mongolia’s Ulaanbaatar.
Oh Gobi, you reckless devil,
you increase the death toll level,
why do you, to the strings of life, dishevel?
