About the Poet
Miss Jennifer Cheng is a Chinese girl living in America. She is a free lance writer.
About the Poem
"Voice of Billions' - The Unsung Song" has won Mail Call Journal's Spring 1998 History Poetry Competition.
In her letter to PFG Jennifer Cheng wrote:
"I wanted to show my support for a democratic China. I feel that the human rights' situation in China cannot be ignored any longer. I wished to present a sort of chronological sequence of events beginning with World War II and Japan's invasion of China including the Rape of Nanking, through the Cultural Revolution and its aftermath, and the Tiananmen Square massacre and the current situation. I composed the piece in epic verse to emphasize the importance of this largely overlooked plight of a people. As a high school student in America, I have been encouraged to use my freedom of speech and allowed to grow up in a democratic society with human rights. I want the people in China to have a voice as well."
Voice of Billions' - The Unsung Song by Jennifer Cheng O Voice of Billions, I beg thee tell-- Of suffering in a time and place of Hell. Where yellow stars are set against red sky, The gray, rock-solid fortress does there lie, And casts its shadow grim upon red land-- A place of murky rice fields, blowing sand, That from the break of time hath seen much blood-- While legacy and people drown in mud.O Voice of Billions I beg thee tell-- Of suffering in a time and place of Hell. Alas, a noble land, ravaged and raped By Rising Sun while all, who could, escaped. Nanking, that tragic beauty was not spared Her children slaughtered--all her sisters scared. Awakes the sleeping giant, for he will fight As warring parties, factions--all unite Against that savage fire whose black path sears, Burning livid scar through heart of fears-- The Yangtze and the Yellow flowing red, Across the bruised landscape choked with dead-- Until the claps of thunder and black rain Extinguish raging fire though not the pain.
O Voice of Billions I beg thee tell-- Of suffering in a time and place like Hell. Hear the sound! That moaning is not a gale-- But howls, cries, screams of those who, left behind, do wail. Feel the wet! That moisture is not the rain-- But salty drops, the burning tears of pain, Which fall from eyes that roll towards blackened sky While crazed, blindly grope to say good-bye-- Their lives, a Mother's weeping cannot save. And so the sudden undertakers slave To bury those whose voices had been stilled From screaming while the rest of them were killed Amidst a blackened landscape where rich blood Is soaked by tears of billions into mud.
O Voice of Billions I bid thee tell-- Of suffering in a time and place like Hell. From loamy mud, well watered down with tears Well fertilized with blood throughout the years, A glorious god came forth in time of need-- God M----, both great in thought and deed. When this king reigned, there was enough to cull; Always, people could count on bellies full Not with rice, beans, cabbages, or meat. (These were not foods, with nothing left to eat.) But Fruits of labor, eaten before ripe-- So plentiful were victuals of this type.
O Voice of Billions I bid thee tell-- Of time and place in which we live so well. Time no longer was for work, school, or play. For steel production quotas--gone the day.
O Voice of Billions I bid thee tell-- Of time and place in which we live so well. So blessed under such a ruler wise, The subjects saw their lord without false guise-- A man who had a vision, had a dream, Had courage and the will to rightly seem-- Most capable at any given mood. And so a period of peace ensued-- A time when every argument stayed young For people were content to hold the tongue.
O Voice of Billions I beg thee tell-- Of suffering in a time and place of Hell. This everlasting time of binding chain-- That though Thought, Speech, and Mind alike do strain, And wage a war, a struggle to not die, To no avail prevail--their living, but a lie. As ants, the people lead entire lives, Not questioning, ignoring sharpened knives Which hang by threads above them if they cry-- So stifle Mind and Voice until they die.
O Voice of Billions I beg thee tell-- Of suffering in a time and place like Hell. "I hear there is a rally in the square" "Well be assured--we will expect you there" "Long live the Chairman, long live our M--" "We seek those, whom his law does not allow." "Long live the Chairman, long live our M--" "For Him, we live, we fight, we die--our vow" Like ghosts the children wander in the mist Obeying Great Red Book which they would kiss. For all obey and worship Great Red Sun, Great Father with all answers--every one. While everyone is sleepwalking in Time, Remaining mute, perfecting art of mime, Rhythms of ghostly drums pulse silently Within the hearts that pound, though quietly. But heartbeats fade amidst the hazy fog Of all M--s dreams which puff into dark smog.
O Voice of Billions I beg thee tell-- Of suffering in a time and place like Hell. Some hearts revive and thaw though numb with frost-- Pump twice as fast to make up for time lost. Once minds of deserts barren bore no fruits; Now seeds are planted--slowly put forth roots. Some mouths, which once were bound by bonds of fear, Now loosen--blow new seed into new ear. And some forbidden fruit is bound to bloom, In lonely library and cold classroom, As tempted fingers rush to pluck black gold, In lonely cells sit those who too much told. It's 1984, so all who wail-- Too much against the group languish in jail. "My father, he has left me, he is gone... He never did exist...don't get me wrong."
O Voice of Billions I beg thee tell-- Of suffering in a time and place like Hell. The man is crouched inside a deep, dark room As summons he the will to meet his doom. And all around, the demons rage and tear-- At his mind, his heart, his soul--until to bear This everlasting torture is--to die. 'Til then, he will not answer to the lie They press him to accept and to confess. Never-ending questions inflame his mind. To struggle for clear vision, or be blind? To think free thoughts by self, or think with all? To stand tall as a man, or crouch down small? To speak the truth, or tell the welcome lie? To hollowly live life, or deeply die?
O Voice of Billions I beg thee tell-- Of suffering in a time and place like Hell. "Now listen to the talk of the Foolish Ones Whose speeches show they're shooting off their guns." "Don't listen to their plans, their stupid Cause--" "These half-grown boys and girls dislike our laws" "Colleges they're enrolled in do not aid;" "They spread their thoughtless thinking and they made-- 'Their own doom, fools, and still they shall not learn..."
O Voice of Billions I beg thee tell Of suffering in a time and place like Hell. Most recall and relive that fateful day-- When youthful comrades vowed to have their say-- Expressed the need for change, the need for rights, And all those thoughts they were discussing nights. Linking arm to arm, they march then to the square-- Rallying together, even more join them there. "China, we beg you listen!, China, we beg you hear!" "China, we beg you listen!, China, we beg you care!" Dreadful Night closes in, candles lit they hold. Hunger strikes, demonstrations, speeches make them bold. "We need freedom!, Rights are ours! Change is needed!" "Rise, Rise!, Let our words not stay unheeded!" "China, we beg you listen!, China, we beg you hear!" "China, we beg you listen!, China, we beg you care!" Too loud has grown the voice and imploration. Armed troops march, tanks roll, in-timidation. Without delay or qualms they pierce the wall-- The barricade of human flesh stands tall-- Though stabbed repeatedly by bullet-fire And butchered by the tanks' unending tire.
O Voice of Billions, I beg thee tell-- Of living in a time and place like Hell. Fallen heroes choke with blood, final words they sigh-- Betrayed, still serving motherland, they die-- "O Dragon, rise, shake off your chains like dew--" "And Phoenix, rise from ashes and renew--" "O anything for a draught from Lethe--" "Give me liberty or give me death--"
O Voice of Billions, I beg thee tell-- Of living in a time and place like Hell. Hear the sound! That moaning is not a gale-- But howls, cries, screams of those who, left behind, do wail. Feel the wet! That moisture is not the rain-- But salty drops-the burning tears of pain, Which fall from eyes that roll towards blackened sky, While crazed, blindly grope to say good-bye-- Their lives, a Mother's weeping cannot save. And so the sudden undertakers slave To bury those whose voices had been stilled From screaming while the rest of them were killed-- Amidst a blackened landscape where rich blood Is soaked by tears of billions into mud.
O Voice of Billions I beg thee tell-- Of suffering in a time and place like Hell. Will not the mirror, the Lady looks into, Reveal the real image of herself as true? The looking-glass itself does not deceive; The face the woman sees and will receive Is covered with a coat of paint that hides The scars, the moles, the pock-marks of disease-- Which she with sisters--all choose not to see. The leprosy that eats away her face-- Beautiful compared to another place. Her soul--the darkest, inner secret keeps-- An unnamed curse, for sealed remain her lips-- That sealed remains her mind which stopped thinking And sealed remains her heart which ceased beating.
O Voice of Billions I beg thee tell-- Of suffering in a time and place like Hell. "How blessed we are," some college students say When sent to learn abroad and far away. They went, they saw, their hearts inspired-- Freed from the mud in which they had been mired. Each holds a half-burned candle to the light-- Glow of singed wick restores their sight. To homeland they return with heads held high And hold their torches out to darkened sky. Linking arm to arm, they march then to the square-- Rallying together, even more join them there. Blindfolds thrown aside, their march is slow, While each attempts to shield his candle's glow From howling winds which whirl the tiny flame In Darkness' cave to be devoured by Shame. Yet on the people march with heads held high And hold their torches out to darkened sky. With cupped palm around forbidden flare-- Lightning bugs and fireflies light the air.